RE  DE  COULEV 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OP 
CALIPORN1A 

SAN  DIEGO 


> 


presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 

by 


ON  THE  BRANCH 


/o&  3/3 

ON  THE 

BRANCH 

From  the  French  of 
PIERRE  DE  COULEVAIN 


NEW  YORK 

E-P-DUTTON  fir  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1909 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 


From  the  soul  of  the  daughter 
To  the  soul  of  the  Mother 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.     PARIS  .      .      .      c 1 

II.     CANNES 16 

III.     PARIS /     .      .      40 

IV.     ENGLAND 51 

V.     PARIS 110 

VI.     BAGNOLES-DE-I/ORNE 112 

VII.     PARIS 176 

VIII.       AlX-LES-BAINS 299 

IX.       PORTE-JOIE S19 

X.       TOURAINE 324 

XI.     PARIS 387 


ON  THE  BRANCH 


ON  THE  BRANCH 


PARIS 

Paris. 

SURELY  I  have  now  almost  come  to  the  end  of  my 
journey,  a  journey  which  has  already  lasted  fifty-seven 
years.  Fifty-seven  years  my  brain  has  been  working, 
my  heart  beating  and  my  feet  walking.  Very  good 
machinery  mine  must  certainly  be,  for  I  cannot  see  any 
sign  yet  of  its  being  the  worse  for  wear. 

I  was  doomed  to  travel  quite  alone  the  last  stage  of 
my  journey.  A  terrible  storm  burst,  one  day,  without 
any  warning,  over  me,  a  storm  which  robbed  me  of  my 
husband,  family  and  home.  Ever  since  then  I  have 
lived  in  hotels,  "  on  the  branch."  Nothing  could  be 
more  practical  and  more  agreeable  for  a  woman  in  my 
present  position.  To  feel  lost  in  a  home  too  large  for 
me,  to  sit  alone  at  a  table  at  which  I  had  always  seen 
faces  that  I  loved, 'to  hear  the  furniture  creak  during 
the  long  winter  evenings,  to  see  my  visitors  gradually 
dropping  off  and  only  to  be  in  touch  with  the  outside 
world  by  means  of  newspapers  —  all  this  would  be  a  ver- 
itable death  in  life  to  me.  Providence  has  spared  me 
such  an  ordeal,  and  I  am  eternally  grateful. 

Free  from  all  domestic  cares  and  from  all  material 

1 


2  ON  THE  BRANCH 

pre-occupation,  my  mind  has  taken  a  new  bent.  It  is 
as  though  it  has  been  recharged,  and  this  time  with  a 
more  subtle  and  powerful  electricity.  At  an  age  when 
one  generally  feels  one's  self  getting  feebler,  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  am  making  progress,  and  I  have  been  able 
to  get  into  "  the  last  boat."  This  phenomenon  is  cer- 
tainly not  peculiar  to  me  alone.  Corot  used  to  say  that 
"  in  order  to  get  the  true  beauty  and  the  soul  of  a  land- 
scape one  must  know  just  where  to  sit  down,"  and  I 
think  I  have  succeeded  in  learning  where  to  sit  down 
and  how  to  look  at  life.  After  much  groping  about 
I  have  at  last  found  a  place  from  which  it  appears  to 
me  beautiful  and  good,  yes,  good.  ...  I  no 
longer  see  man  blind,  and  yet  with  full  liberty  but  as  a 
co-operator  in  the  Divine  work  and  immortal  as  that  is. 
I  see  him  walking  in  boundless  eternity,  led  on  towards 
distant  and  glorious  horizons.  This  new  vision  is  a 
source  of  precious  education  to  me,  a  source  of  consola- 
tion and  of  infinite  hope.  Why  should  I  not  give  these 
to  all  who  need  them  ?  Why  should  I  not  think  for  those 
who  have  no  time  to  think?  Why  should  I  not  look  at 
things  for  those  who  have  no  time  to  look  ?  "  On  the 
branch  "  one  sees  things  from  a  much  higher  plane  and 
one  sees  much  farther,  too  —  oh,  very  much  farther. 

Paris. 

A  bed-room  and  a  dressing-room  on  the  fourth  floor 
of  a  first-class  hotel  in  the  foreigners'  quarter  —  such  is 
my  home.  The  contents  of  three  trunks  constitute  my 
worldly  possessions.  The  scenery  for  my  fifth  act  is 
neither  grand  nor  luxurious,  but,  such  as  it  is,  it  gives 
me  infinite  pleasure. 

My  window  looks  on  to  a  fine  street,  and  I  see  count- 
less human  beings  pass  by,  who  are  most  interesting 


PARIS  3 

on  account  of  the  variety  of  their  station  in  life  and  of 
their  general  appearance.  From  my  balcony  I  have  a 
view  of  a  narrow  but  extensive  strip  of  the  Panorama 
of  Paris,  from  Sainte-Clotilde  to  the  Cathedral  of  the 
Sacre-Cceur,  from  the  Tuileries  Gardens  to  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens,  and  the  colours  of  the  setting  sun  light 
up  the  sky  most  divinely. 

Within  the  few  square  yards  up  and  down  which  I 
pace,  there  are  a  wonderful  number  of  things  —  a  bed, 
a  sofa,  two  tables,  two  arm-chairs  and  a  trunk.  On  one 
panel  of  the  wall,  between  the  folds  of  some  antique 
brocade,  are  the  protraits  of  my  remaining  friends. 
On  another  are  those  of  my  acquaintances,  people  of 
whom  I  have  a  pleasant  recollection.  Then  there  are 
the  photographs  of  dogs  that  I  have  loved  —  Blanch- 
ette,  Charmant,  Bob  and  Jack.  I  keep  them  for 
the  sake  of  the  beam  of  canine  affection  that  the  light 
has  caught  in  the  depth  of  their  eyes.  To  the  right 
of  the  chimney-piece  is  the  bracket  with  my  favour- 
ite books  —  the  Bible,  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare, 
Moliere,  Diderot,  Don  Quixote  and  Manon  Lescaut. 
Above  these  is  Lefevre's  "  Truth  "  and  underneath  Ary 
Scheffer's  "  Monica  and  St.  Augustine."  Facing  the 
door  the  "  Victory  of  Samothrace,"  and,  fastened  on  the 
wall  by  the  side  of  my  bed,  a  strange,  beautiful  engrav- 
ing by  Willette.  It  represents  a  dark  sky  illumined 
with  lightning,  and,  standing  out  against  this  back- 
ground, a  huge  cross  upon  which  is  nailed  a  human  being 
with  hard  features  roughly  drawn.  It  is  the  wicked 
thief,  and  he  is  there  in  his  death  agony,  his  hair  blown 
about  by  the  stormy  wind,  but  he  is  not  alone.  A  woman 
of  the  people  has  her  arms  round  his  neck,  her  lips  to 
his.  In  order  to  reach  up  to  his  mouth  she  has  had  to 
mount  on  the  beast  she  has  been  riding,  a  small  white 


4  ON  THE  BRANCH 

donkey  driven  by  a  child  who,  quite  abashed,  is  leaning 
against  the  ignominious  cross.  It  may  be  a  Montmartre, 
St.  Ouen  or  St.  Lazare  love-story,  that  I  cannot 
tell,  but  in  that  kiss,  that  straining  of  the  woman's 
body  in  order  to  reach  up  to  the  crucified  man,  there  is 
a  force  of  maternal  tenderness,  which  makes  one  believe 
in  forgiveness.  All  these  things  people  my  solitude, 
crowd  to  my  heart  and  brain,  calling  forth  all  kinds  of 
thoughts  and  feelings.  When,  added  to  all  this,  I  have 
a  fire  and  some  flowers  in  my  room,  everything  seems 
very  gay  and  delightfully  snug.  To  a  woman  of  my 
temperament,  a  woman  who  likes  large  rooms  with  high 
ceilings,  silk  draperies,  artistic  objects  that  are  alike 
pleasant  to  the  eye  and  to  the  touch,  and  beautiful 
pictures,  it  seems  as  though  this  most  ordinary  dwelling 
place  would  be  a  perfect  torture.  Strangely  enough  it 
is  not  so,  for  I  have  become  attached  to  the  things  with 
which  I  am  surrounded,  because  of  their  very  ugliness. 
The  shepherdess  on  my  clock,  with  her  round  hat,  a 
dove  on  her  shoulder,  a  sheep  at  her  feet  and  a  crook  in 
her  hand,  the  clock  itself,  which  would  formerly  have 
made  me  grind  my  teeth,  are  now  quite  dear  to  me. 
What  I  love,  though,  above  all  is  this  great  trunk,  marked 
with  red  and  blue,  painted  with  my  initials  and  orna- 
mented with  labels  which  remind  me  that  I  am  a  nomad. 
I  pack  and  unpack  it  with  equal  pleasure.  It  holds  ali 
that  is  necessary  for  me,  with  my  life  simplified  as  it 
now  is.  In  one  of  its  compartments  there  is  the  last 
dress  I  shall  ever  wear,  my  "  coffin  dress,"  and  the 
slippers  that  are  to  be  put  on  my  feet,  for  there  is  no 
one  left  now  to  see  to  all  this  for  me.  Ah,  my  dear 
trunk!  When  I  die  I  shall  regret  it  more  than  I 
should  a  palace,  and  the  idea  that  some  day  a  stranger's 
hands  will  rummage  in  it  and  disperse  its  contents  is 
very  disagreeable  to  me. 


PARIS  5 

Yesterday,  as  I  was  looking  round  my  room,  I  could 
not  help  smiling.  On  the  chimney-piece  is  a  small 
statue  of  St.  Anthony  of  Padoua,  the  gift  of  a  very  re- 
ligious friend.  On  the  wall  I  have  a  horse-shoe,  the 
mistletoe  from  last  Christmas  and  the  Easter  branch  of 
palm.  Then  there  are  my  gris-a-gris,  fetiches,  and  sym- 
bols, such  as  one  might  have  found  in  the  ancestral 
hut.  All  this  is  very  curious,  for  I  know  that  these 
things  will  not  bring  me  luck,  and  that  they  will  not 
preserve  me  from  any  evil,  yet  all  the  same  they  are 
there. 

The  hotel  in  which  I  live,  like  all  the  houses  in  this 
neighbourhood,  dates  from  the  First  Empire.  In  order 
to  introduce  the  springs  necessary  for  our  modern  life 
in  a  building  of  another  epoch,  prodigies  of  ingenuity 
were  required.  I  was  present  at  this  evolution  of  the 
human  habitation,  and  it  interested  me  immensely.  It  is 
like  the  evolution  of  the  mind  carried  into  the  material 
order.  The  processes  resemble  each  other  in  the  most 
striking  way.  In  the  material  order  the  workman  comes 
across  a  wall  that  is  too  thick,  a  partition  too  slight,  a 
beam  that  is  too  old.  In  the  intellectual  order  of  things 
science  is  impeded  by  some  ancient  prejudice,  some  time- 
honoured  belief,  some  weak,  hesitating  mind.  It  is 
necessary  to  bore  through,  to  prop  up,  to  pull  down  and 
to  reconstruct  with  infinite  precaution,  in  order  to  in- 
troduce fresh  springs  into  the  building  and  into 
the  brain.  The  wood  and  stone  will  creak  and  craunch, 
the  intellect  will  protest,  but  the  inevitable  work  must  be 
carried  through.  Baths,  lifts,  electricity,  water-pipes, 
wires  find  their  place  within  the  old  walls.  Just  in  the 
same  way  a  new  ideal  takes  possession  of  the  mind  and 
the  world  moves  on.  I  was  present  at  the  hotel  when  the 
gas-meter  was  turned  off,  in  order  to  admit  the  brilliant 
new  modern  light,  and  on  seeing  this  slay  that,  I  could 


6  ON  THE  BRANCH 

not  help  feeling  a  pang  at   my  heart.     Ah,  well  —  I 
am  among  all  that  is  included  in  the  "  that "  now. 

Paris. 

The  knowledge  of  three  languages  has  made  a  cos- 
mopolitan of  me.  It  is  both  a  happiness  and  a  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  cosmopolitan.  It  develops  the  mental 
faculties,  but  the  soul  retains  the  characteristics  of  its 
race,  the  heart  is  true  to  its  own  country,  to  its  own 
parish,  even.  One  inspires  one's  compatriots  with  dis- 
trust and  also  with  envy.  One  is  apt  to  shock  their  sta- 
tionary ideas,  their  prejudices.  One  can  no  longer  un- 
derstand them,  and  when  with  them  one  always  feels  a 
painful  sensation  of  isolation. 

That  it  should  be  possible  to  get  the  germ  of  cos- 
mopolitanism in  a  small  provincial  town  seems  incon- 
ceivable, but  this  was  what  happened  nevertheless. 
Providence  sometimes  brings  from  afar  the  elements  of 
which  it  has  need  for  human  destinies.  An  English 
woman  made  her  appearance  in  Bourg  society.  There 
had  never  been  one  in  the  little  town  before  her.  She 
was  the  wife  of  a  young  doctor  and,  as  she  had  married 
against  the  wishes  of  her  family,  all  her  people  ceased 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  her.  English  literature  of 
the  commencement  of  the  last  century  had  such  influence 
over  us  as  we  have  never  felt  since.  My  mother  had  the 
most  passionate  admiration  for  Byron,  Shelley  and 
Walter  Scott,  and  a  countrywoman  of  theirs  could  not 
fail  to  inspire  her  with  sympathy.  She  became  very  in- 
timate with  Madame  Andre,  who  lived  in  the  next  house 
to  ours.  This  friendship  had  a  certain  influence  over 
my  physical  education.  When  I  came  into  the  world 
I  was  received,  clothed  and  treated  as  English  children 
are.  My  limbs  were  left  free,  my  head  was  not  covered 
up,  and  I  was  inured  to  fresh  air  and  cold  water.  Later 


PARIS  7 

on  I  wore  very  short,  low-necked  frocks,  had  bare 
legs  and  wore  my  hair  down  my  back.  My  mother  was 
severely  blamed  for  these  innovations,  and  my  playfel- 
lows made  fun  of  me  and  called  me  "  English." 
Madame  Andre  talked  to  me  in  her  own  language  as 
she  did  to  her  little  boy,  and  I  learned  it  unconsciously. 
Homesickness  and  grief  at  being  separated  from  her 
relatives  developed  the  germs  of  consumption  in  my 
mother's  friend.  She  was  taken  ill  and  died  within  a 
week  and  her  husband  then  left  the  place,  taking  with 
him  his  son  who  had  hitherto  been  my  playfellow. 
After  that  it  seemed  only  likely  that  the  foreign  element 
would  be  absent  from  my  life.  Such  was  not  the 
case,  for  five  years  later,  when  I  was  nearly  twelve, 
an  Englishman  arrived  at  Bourg.  No  one  ever  knew 
how  or  why.  He  lodged  with  a  widow  who  had  a  small 
house  at  the  entrance  to  the  town  and  took  boarders, 
professors  and  others.  Madame  Permet  was  a  very 
kind-hearted  woman  and  she  took  an  interest  in  this 
foreigner.  At  his  request  she  tried  to  find  him  some 
pupils,  and  succeeded  in  getting  five,  including  myself. 
Poor  Mr.  Gray,  I  feel  sure  that  no  one  else  in  the  world 
remembers  him.  His  portrait  no  longer  exists,  probably, 
except  in  one  of  the  cells  of  my  brain.  I  wonder  how 
it  was  that  it  ever  made  such  a  deep  impression  there. 
Perhaps  it  was  due  to  the  occult  power  of  the  man's  own 
hidden  sorrow.  I  can  see  him  now  with  his  frail  out- 
line, his  long  bent  body,  his  pearly  complexion  and  his 
sad  eyes.  It  is  a  curious  thing,  and  would  be  almost 
incredible  to  anyone  who  does  not  know  what  marvels 
we  are,  but  I  can  still  feel  the  impression  of  physical 
cold  which  the  sight  of  that  body,  from  which  life  was 
ebbing,  used  to  give  me.  I  can  see  his  slender,  trans- 
parent hands,  with  well-kept  nails,  holding  my  books. 
They  fascinated  and  awed  me ;  it  was  as  though  I  uncon- 


8  ON  THE  BRANCH 

sciously  felt  the  prestige  of  superior  race  to  which  they 
testified.  With  Mr.  Gray  I  was  extraordinarily  atten- 
tive and  docile.  He  taught  me  his  language  from 
Robertson's  Grammar.  Either  the  method  was  good 
or  I  had  a  gift  for  languages,  as  before  long  I  under- 
stood this  one.  In  English  there  was  quite  a  literature 
for  children  at  a  time  when  in  French  we  were  reduced 
to  the  Velllees  du  Chateau,  Exiles  en  Siberie,  Berquin's 
Contes.  Our  pink  and  blue  series  of  books  for  children 
were  still  in  the  limbo  of  a  few  feminine  minds.  In  those 
English  books  there  were  no  sermons,  no  models  of  good- 
ness, impossible  to  imitate,  but  real  little  boys  and  girls, 
all  the  animals  of  Noah's  ark,  real  life,  in  fact.  This 
suited  me.  I  was  delighted  with  the  stories  and,  urged 
on  by  curiosity,  I  searched  untiringly  for  word  after 
word  in  the  dictionary.  I  learned  those  nursery 
rhymes  that  can  be  accompanied  on  the  piano  by  one 
finger,  the  tunes  of  which  are  so  easy  to  catch.  All  this 
rooted  English  very  deeply  in  my  mind.  Whilst  I  was 
advancing  in  my  Robertson's  Grammar,  Mr.  Gray  was 
advancing  in  the  book  of  his  life.  His  pallor  increased, 
the  slowness  of  his  movements  was  more  pronounced,  his 
nose  began  to  look  pinched,  and  he  had  every  appear- 
ance of  being  in  consumption.  During  each  of  my 
lessons  mother  made  him  drink  a  glass  of  old  Bur- 
gundy. While  under  the  influence  of  the  tonic  a  slight 
colour  came  into  his  pale  face,  and  that  colour  gave 
me  intense  satisfaction.  His  vital  force  suddenly  failed 
and  he  was  obliged  to  stay  in  bed.  He  lingered  on 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  three  days  before  his  death  his 
brother  arrived.  The  brother  looked  older,  and  gave  one 
the  idea  that  he  was  of  noble  birth.  What  misfortune 
or  what  error  could  have  caused  Mr.  Gray's  ruin  and 
his  lamentable  stranding  at  Bourg?  No  one  ever  dis- 
covered the  key  to  the  mystery.  The  Englishman,  as 


PARIS  9 

everyone  called  him,  was  accompanied  to  the  cemetery 
by  his  pupils,  their  parents  and  his  landlady.  His 
brother  read  some  prayers  over  the  open  grave.  Chance, 
if  indeed  it  was  chance,  placed  Mr.  Gray  next  to 
Madame  Andre,  his  countrywoman.  According  to 
orders  left  with  the  Mayor  of  the  town,  my  tutor's 
tomb  was  enclosed  by  a  railing.  On  the  stone  which 
covered  it  the  initials  A.  G.  were  carved,  and  the  fol- 
lowing words,  which  I  found  later  on  in  the  Bible: 
"  All  His  waves  and  billows  have  gone  over  me."  As 
long  as  we  lived  at  Bourg  the  exile  had  flowers  and 
wreaths  on  his  grave.  The  thought  of  that  poor  chilly 
body  under  the  cold  earth  haunted  me  for  a  long  time, 
and  made  me  sob  at  night  in  my  bed. 

The  year  following,  at  the  Sacre-Coeur  convent,  I  took 
up  my  English  studies  again  with  an  Irish  nun. 
Among  the  Superiors  there  was  a  remarkably  pretty 
Piedmontese  woman,  and  for  the  pleasure  of  having 
lessons  from  her  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  learn  Italian. 
Later  on,  after  spending  my  holidays  with  an  uncle  in 
Alsace,  I  wanted  to  learn  German,  and  a  professor  was 
found  for  me.  And  all  this,  English,  Italian  and 
German,  served  to  give  various  shades  of  thought  to 
my  mind  so  that  I  might  live  the  life  which  was  destined 
for  me. 

Paris. 

It  is  now  fifteen  years  since  I  was  uprooted.  The 
death  of  my  husband,  M.  de  Myeres,  and  the  ruin  which 
followed,  drove  me  abruptly  from  the  Chateau  of 
Chavigny,  in  the  department  of  Cher,  and  from  my 
beautiful  Paris  flat  in  the  Place  Fra^ois  I.  When  the 
disastrous  whirlwind  was  over,  I  found  myself  "  on  the 
branch "  in  a  hotel.  My  private  fortune  had  been 
saved,  so  that  I  could  try  to  forget  everything  by 


10  ON  THE  BRANCH 

travelling  —  and  I  tried  hard.  For  several  years  I 
wandered  along  all  the  routes  frequented  by  idlers  until, 
finally,  I  was  weary  of  seeing  museums,  churches,  monu- 
ments and  ruins.  My  banker  pointed  out  to  me  the 
necessity  of  curtailing  my  peregrinations.  I  spent  more 
time  in  Paris,  leading  there  the  independent  life  of  a 
foreigner.  My  idleness  suddenly  began  to  weigh  on 
me  and  I  began  to  feel  the  need  of  creating  for  my- 
self some  interest  in  life  —  but  what  was  it  to  be  ? 
I  should  have  liked  to  do  some  good  in  the  world,  to 
devote  myself  to  a  charitable  cause,  but  no  inspiration 
came  to  me.  No  one  seemed  to  have  any  need  of  me. 
Then,  too,  the  winter  time  of  my  life  began  to  manifest 
itself  in  a  hundred  disagreeable  ways.  The  warmth  and 
light  of  my  days  were  gradually  diminishing.  A 
flatterer  once  wanted  to  persuade  Madame  Recamier 
that  she  was  as  beautiful  as  ever,  but  she  answered,  with 
a  smile :  "  No,  no,  I  cannot  deceive  myself  on  that 
score,  the  little  chimney-sweeps  never  look  at  me  now." 
Unfortunately  there  never  had  been  a  time  when  they 
had  looked  at  me,  but  I  used  to  possess  a  little  of  that 
mysterious  fluid  which  attracts  a  glance,  or  a  certain 
sympathy,  and  which  is  our  secret  pride.  I  was  con- 
scious of  the  precise  moment  when  this  left  me.  It  was 
one  evening  at  the  theatre.  I  suddenly  felt  a  sensation 
of  strange  solitude,  the  house  seemed  empty  and  immense, 
and  I  shivered  as  though  a  gust  of  cold  wind  were  blow- 
ing over  me.  It  was  simply  that  my  magnetic  power 
had  been  withdrawn.  All  women  have  experienced,  or 
will  experience  at  some  time  of  their  life,  the  suffering 
caused  by  this  operation  of  Nature.  The  moral  crisis 
which  ensued  produced  in  me  the  most  unexpected  of 
phenomena.  I  certainly  possessed  the  gift  of  cerebral 
creation.  My  imagination  as  a  child  was  always  manu- 


PARIS  11 

facturing  fairy  tales  and  stories.  I  frequently  could  not 
distinguish  them  from  realities,  so  that  they  were 
called  untruths.  Later  on  some  interior  —  or  exterior 
—  force  incited  me  to  write.  I  heard  it  through  all 
my  sorrows,  my  joys  and  my  amusements.  I  could  not 
go  to  sleep,  and  I  cannot  now,  without  commencing  either 
a  romance  or  a  play.  As  soon  as  my  head  is  on  the 
pillow  the  characters  take  shape,  situations  are  sketched 
out  in  my  mind  and  I  even  hear  the  persons  talking. 
Then,  as  though  the  object  of  this  phantasmagoria  were 
to  plunge  me  into  a  real  dream,  sleep  overcomes  me  and 
prevents  my  arriving  at  the  denouement.  When  I  was 
young  I  was  a  great  reader.  I  was  envious  of  George 
Sand's  glory,  but  I  believe  that  her  masculine  attire  and 
her  free  life  tempted  me  still  more.  My  mother,  alarmed 
at  these  tendencies,  always  made  fun  of  blue-stockings, 
holding  them  up  to  me  as  very  ridiculous  personages. 
Thanks  to  my  indolence  and  frivolity,  she  had  no 
difficulty  in  deterring  me  from  my  vocation.  Before 
very  long,  too,  I  was  caught  in  a  veritable  gear  wheel, 
which  would  certainly  have  destroyed  my  creative  faculty, 
if  that  could  have  been  destroyed.  For  years  I  had  felt 
this  within  me,  like  something  living  and  precious,  like 
a  treasure  which  I  did  not  use,  but  that  I  was  glad  to 
possess.  And  now,  in  the  great  silence  of  age,  inspiration 
has  come  to  me  again,  strong  and  irresistible,  and  I  have 
yielded  to  it.  I  remember  the  day,  the  very  minute  when 
I  became  its  instrument,  its  creature.  In  spite  of  all  my 
efforts  I  could  not  escape  from  it.  Without  suspecting 
it,  my  thought  power,  as  a  result  of  being  better  nur- 
tured, had  acquired  force.  It  had  freed  from  its  prison 
a  something  which  was  in  some  cell  at  the  back  of  my 
forehead,  and  this  freedom  changed  my  twilight  into 
a  splendid  aurora-borealis.  When  an  American  woman 


12  ON  THE  BRANCH 

discovers  in  herself  some  talent,  or  some  special  taste, 
she  exclaims  j  oy fully :  "  I  know  now  why  I  was  born !  " 
Well,  then  I  know  now  why  I  have  lived. 

Oh,  that  first  novel!  The  title  came  into  my  mind, 
the  climax  and  the  last  word.  In  this  triangle,  my 
thoughts  worked  for  two  whole  years.  And  to  my 
great  surprise,  to  my  amazement,  I  found  that  my  brain 
had  been  slowly,  very  slowly  prepared  for  the  work 
it  had  to  do.  American  women  had  been  assigned  to 
me  as  models,  I  had  been  thrown  constantly  with  them 
and  had  been  admitted  into  their  intimacy.  Quite  un- 
consciously I  had  been  collecting  the  notes  and  the  ma- 
terials necessary  for  their  portraits.  The  more  pro- 
found knowledge  of  life  that  I  had  acquired  at  such 
cost,  my  own  troubles,  my  uprooting,  my  apparently 
aimless  travelling,  the  millions  of  impressions  that  I 
had  been  storing  up  —  all  this  was  indispensable.  The 
more  I  advanced,  the  more  struck  was  I  with  admiration 
at  the  work  which  had  been  accomplished  within  me  and 
at  that  which  I  was  executing. 

My  inexperience  was  both  pathetic  and  comic.  Often 
when  inspiration  did  not  come  I  went  out  for  a  walk. 
At  other  times  when  it  arrived  like  a  warm,  living  wave, 
I  was  so  joyful  that  I  went  out  again,  taking  it  with 
me  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  or  to  the  terrace  of  the  Tuile- 
ries,  and  it  bore  me  company. 

That  first  novel!  I  dragged  it  about  with  me  in  my 
trunk  and  it  was  written  in  I  cannot  tell  how  many 
hotels.  One  night  at  Rheinfelden-les-Bains  there  was 
a  terrible  storm.  A  thunderbolt  set  fire  to  a  summer- 
house  in  the  garden.  No  one  went  to  bed,  but  prepared 
for  flight;  we  all  waited  in  the  hall  to  see  what  would 
happen.  Some  women  had  their  children,  others  a  dog ; 
all  of  them  had  little  bags  containing  their  jewellery 
and  money.  As  for  me,  I  simply  had  my  manuscript 


PARIS  13 

fastened  round  me  with  a  strap.  That  was  my  sole 
treasure.  An  Alsatian  gentleman  ventured  to  ask  me, 
in  a  joke,  what  my  strange-looking  parcel  contained. 

"  A  novel  that  I  am  writing,"  I  answered. 

The  mockery  of  his  smile  hurt  my  feelings,  but  I  did 
not  betray  myself.  When  the  volume  was  published  I 
sent  him  a  copy,  with  a  dedication  recalling  the  incident. 
He  read  it,  and  then  wrote  to  me,  "  You  were  quite 
right  in  wanting  to  save  it." 

With  the  exception  of  some  easy  crochet  work  for 
the  poor,  I  have  never  been  able  to  finish  anything  I 
have  begun.  I  thought  it  would  be  the  same  with  my 
novel,  but  from  the  very  first  moment  I  felt  myself 
bound  to  my  writing-table.  If  I  left  it  for  rather 
too  long  a  time  I  was  drawn  back  to  it  irresistibly. 
Providence  had,  besides,  prepared  the  aid  necessary  for 
the  accomplishment  of  my  task  —  and  this  aid  was  a 
French  friend  who  lived  near  me  in  the  Place  Vendome. 
I  had  made  her  acquaintance  ten  years  previously.  For 
many  long  months  she  had  been  a  prisoner  on  account 
of  an  illness  which  finally  proved  fatal.  She  kept  up 
with  the  times  by  her  reading.  The  nobility  of  her 
character  inspired  me  with  an  admiration  which  I  have 
rarely  felt  for  anyone.  She  was  the  only  person  with 
whom  I  should  not  have  feared  to  be  ill  and  to  die.  To 
her  alone  I  talked  of  my  work.  She  took  such  an  ardent 
interest  in  it  that  I  felt  encouraged,  and  often  went  up 
to  read  a  few  chapters  to  her.  She  used  to  lie  on  a 
sofa,  and  I  would  sit  down  comfortably  in  a  large  arm- 
chair facing  her,  with  a  cup  of  tea  on  a  small  table 
to  my  right.  She  listened  to  me  with  intense  interest, 
and  nothing  distracted  her  attention.  It  was  a  fresh 
pleasure  to  see  the  emotions  I  had  created  reflected  in 
her  magnificent  black  eyes.  Her  presence  and  her 
words  acted  on  my  brain  in  an  inspiring  and  beneficial 


14  ON  THE  BRANCH 

manner.  I  used  to  go  back  to  my  hotel  with  my  mind 
literally  warmed  by  her  sympathy.  Without  her  I  am 
convinced  that  my  novel  would  have  gone  to  join  the 
unfinished  drawings,  tapestries  and  embroideries  with 
which  my  path  through  life  had  been  strewn.  I  finished 
it  victoriously  and  signed  it  "  Jean  Noel  " ! 

Why  Jean  Noel?  Simply  because  the  name  sounded 
joyous  and  of  good  omen.  The  child  was  born,  but 
what  was  to  be  done  with  it?  My  friend  procured  an 
introduction  for  me  to  the  manager  of  one  of  our  im- 
portant daily  papers.  I  decided,  after  some  hesitation, 
to  take  it  to  him.  A  woman  of  fifty-two,  absolute^ 
unknown,  presenting  herself  with  a  manuscript!  It 
seemed  somewhat  audacious  and  ridiculous.  I  was  fully 
aware  of  this  and  was  as  nervous  as  a  young  actress 
making  her  debut.  The  offices  of  the  paper  in  question 
made  a  disagreeable  impression  on  me.  There  was  some- 
thing hard  in  the  atmosphere,  a  something  bourgeois 

which  immediately  ruffled  all  my  feathers.  M.  P , 

for  whom  I  had  the  introduction,  received  me  very  kindly, 
but  with  the  brusque  politeness  peculiar  to  that  firm.  He 
took  the  manuscript  from  my  hands,  tossed  it  on  to  his 
desk,  saying  "  C'est  bien,  madame,  nous  lirons  9a." 
(Very  good,  madame,  we  will  read  that.) 

That!  —  the  word  took  my  breath  away.  He  just 
called  it  that  —  this  thing  which  had  caused  nature 
years  of  work,  which  was  life  itself !  Ah,  he  little  knew ! 
No,  publishers  and  editors  do  not  yet  know,  in  the 
twentieth  century,  what  a  manuscript  is.  If  they  had 
any  inkling  of  what  it  is  they  would  handle  it  like  the 
Holy  Sacrament. 

Anyhow  my  novel  was  read.  It  was  read,  accepted, 
published  as  a  serial,  and  then  in  volume  form.  Its 
success  gave  me  the  presentiment  that  Jean  Noel  would 
very  likely  prolong  the  existence  here  of  Madame  de 


PARIS  15 

Myeres.     I  do  not  see  the  necessity,  but  Providence  prob- 
ably does. 

I  wrote  a  second  novel.  The  favourable  criticism  of 
the  first  one  by  an  Academician,  who  was  a  disinterested 
lover  of  literature,  and  who  delighted  in  bringing  to 
notice  any  works  of  merit,  opened  for  me  the  pages  of 
one  of  our  best  reviews.  My  friend  died  before  the 
appearance  of  this  new  volume  which  she  had  partic- 
ularly liked.  The  very  day  of  its  publication  a  curious 
thing  happened.  I  went  to  call  on  her  mother,  and  I 
waited  for  her  in  the  room  where  we  had  so  often  talked 
together.  It  was  in  April,  towards  the  close  of  a  fine 
day,  and  all  around  me  was  the  silence  of  twilight.  I 
was  just  thinking  of  my  friend's  sweet,  Madonna-like 
face,  with  its  black  eyes,  and  of  her  graceful  figure, 
and  was  regretting  that  she  was  no  longer  there.  Sud- 
denly, in  the  still  air,  without  a  single  leaf  of  the  trees 
in  the  courtyard  stirring,  a  gust  of  wind  —  extraordi- 
narily gentle  —  entered  by  the  open  window,  enveloped 
me,  and  then  seemed  to  go  out  again.  I  started,  and 
my  heart  began  to  beat  fast.  I  had  an  instantaneous 
idea  that  this  manifestation  came  from  her.  This  im- 
pression has  never  left  me.  .  .  .  Who  knows? 
Ah,  who  knows! 

I  have  just  finished  my  third  novel  and  have  com- 
menced copying  it.  For  the  last  five  years  I  have  been 
studying  the  effect  of  the  work  of  Life  on  others,  and 
the  curiosity  has  come  to  me  to  study  its  effect  on  myself. 
It  is  perhaps  very  imprudent.  God  knows  what  cells  of 
the  brain  my  thoughts  may  open  again.  Will  they  be 
able  to  avoid  that  zone  which  contains  so  many  sacred 
and  sorrowful  things?  I  must  be  careful  as  there  are 
some  ghosts  which  should  never  be  evoked. 


n 

CANNES 

Cannes,  Hotel  Riche. 

IF  ever  any  creature  had  a  belief  in  liberty  it  is  cer- 
tainly I.  This  belief  has  always  made  me  curiously 
sensitive  to  the  suggestion  of  movement.  It  often  hap- 
pens that  I  sit  down  to  dinner  without  having  the 
slightest  idea  of  going  out  afterwards.  If  there  should 
be  any  one  in  the  dining-room  ready  equipped  for  the 
theatre  I  immediately-  feel  inclined  to  go  too,  and  I 
accordingly  do  so.  When  I  see  a  friend  packing  her 
trunks  I  have  all  the  difficulty  in  the  world  to  restrain 
myself  from  imitating  her.  No  one  could  realise  all  the 
fluttering  about  of  a  woman  "  on  the  branch." 

As  a  result  of  hearing  all  around  me  the  words  "  I 
am  going  to  Nice,  to  Cannes,  to  Monte  Carlo,"  a 
longing  to  see  the  south  of  France  again  came  to  me. 
The  ideas  which  influence  our  life  come  to  us  from  out- 
side, and  I  had  received  my  orders  to  advance.  It  was 
like  a  little  holiday  accorded  to  me  after  the  comple- 
tion of  my  novel.  Cannes  was  the  only  place  in  the 
Riviera  that  I  did  not  know.  A  sort  of  fate  had  always 
barred  the  road  to  it  for  me  hitherto.  It  attracted  me 
now  for  that  very  reason. 

To  arrive  at  night  in  an  unknown  town,  to  open 
my  window  the  following  morning  on  a  new  horizon 
and  to  go  out  alone  in  strange  streets  is  an  exquisite 
pleasure  to  me.  The  presence  of  anyone,  no  matter 
whom,  would  entirely  spoil  this  pleasure  for  me.  It  is, 

16 


CANNES  17 

as  it  were,  a  communion  with  the  soul  of  the  country,  that 
soul  created  by  the  race  of  its  inhabitants,  the  architecture 
of  its  houses,  the  climate,  a  crowd  of  things  visible  and 
invisible.  I  always  feel  it  very  distinctly.  It  makes 
a  deep  impression  on  me,  and  causes  me  either  sadness 
or  joy.  The  first  impression  is  never  effaced,  and  the 
remembrance  of  it  alone  suffices  to  reproduce  it.  After 
the  pleasure  of  exploring  the  place  to  which  I  have 
been  brought,  there  is  that  of  making  acquaintance 
with  my  hotel.  The  general  effect  is  about  the  same 
everywhere.  Corridors  with  doors  on  each  side,  like 
those  of  a  convent  or  a  prison,  a  dining-room  with  square 
or  round  tables  covered  with  white  cloths  with  their  stiff 
creases,  a  reading-room  with  newspapers,  hideous  books 
of  advertisements,  heavy,  uncomfortable  armchairs, 
drawing-rooms  that  are  often  very  magnificent,  but 
which  do  not  look  any  more  private  than  the  street. 
In  spite  of  all  that  is  hopelessly  commonplace,  every 
hotel  has  a  special  atmosphere.  This  atmosphere  is 
antipathetic  or  congenial,  gloomy  or  gay,  according  to 
the  disposition  of  the  proprietors,  according  to  the 
people  who  frequent  it,  the  general  tone  of  the  servants, 
the  arrangements  of  the  rooms.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
immense  caravanseras  run  by  companies  is  icy-cold.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  endure  it  for  a  long  time. 
The  Hotel  Riche,  where  I  am  staying,  is  about  ten 
minutes  from  the  town,  in  the  midst  of  a  park.  I  like 
its  general  aspect.  I  have  a  nice  room  on  the  fourth 
floor,  and  the  view  from  my  balcony  is  very  fine.  With 
flowers,  my  books,  a  few  photographs,  my  pens,  ink- 
stand and  my  papers,  I  can  make  any  place  where  I 
am  staying  seem  like  home.  The  arrival  in  any  hotel 
where  I  am  going  to  stay  for  some  time  always  amuses 
me.  The  strangers  with  whom  I  am  about  to  enter 
into  contact  resuscitate  my  life,  vary  it,  turn  it,  per- 


18  ON  THE  BRANCH 

haps,  in  another  direction,  and  I,  myself,  have  some  kind 
of  influence  on  them.  This  excites  my  curiosity  in- 
tensely. As  soon  as  one  is  in  a  fresh  centre  one  feels 
the  play  of  those  fluids  to  which  are  due  the  continuance 
of  the  human  being.  Your  presence  affects  this  person 
disagreeably,  that  one  agreeably  and  leaves  the  others 
indifferent.  Affinities  of  education,  of  sentiment,  of 
mind  make  you  find  your  level  quickly.  The  Hotel 
Riche  is  rather  behind  the  times.  It  still  has  a  table 
d'hote  as  well  as  private  tables.  This  is  less  chic,  but 
it  develops  sociability.  My  first  dinner  has  left  me 
with  a  good  impression.  Flowers,  men  and  women  in 
evening  dress,  gave  an  elegant  look  to  the  room. 
The  conversation  seemed  to  me  gay  and  animated.  I 
saw  a  few  faces  that  I  liked  and  that  were  even  in- 
teresting. The  English  and  American  element  predom- 
inates. I  am  glad  of  that,  as  it  means  more  cleanliness 
and  more  propriety.  There  are  enough  French,  Rus- 
sians and  Spaniards  to  give  a  warm  colouring  to  this 
human  group.  Well,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be  bored 
here,  at  any  rate. 

Cannes. 

Travelling  and  the  change  of  surroundings  always 
cause  a  kind  of  bewilderment  to  the  mind,  a  brusque 
cessation  of  its  work.  According  to  the  place  in  which 
it  finds  itself  transplanted,  it  requires  more  or  less  time 
for  taking  up  again  the  thread  of  its  thoughts.  It 
feels  the  ground,  moves  round  on  the  same  spot  and 
finally  recovers  its  activity.  I  am  now  installed  and 
acclimatized.  The  new  track  on  which  my  life  has  been 
placed  is  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise.  At  seven 
o'clock  my  tea  is  brought  to  me.  I  have  it  in  front 
of  my  open  window,  and,  while  drinking  it  slowly,  I 
write,  with  my  book  on  my  lap.  The  pure  morning 


CANNES  19 

air  is  wonderfully  refreshing.  At  times  I  gaze  out  at 
the  mountains  and  the  sea  .  .  .  my  pen  stops  and 
a  curious  intoxication  takes  possession  of  me.  It  is 
as  though  I  enter  into  all  this  beauty  of  light,  as  though 
I  am  absorbed  by  something  very  great.  I  am  no  longer 
here  —  but  over  yonder  —  up  there  —  far  away  from 
my  body,  and  I  am  divinely  happy.  This  sensation  is 
comparatively  new  to  me.  It  is  of  brief  duration,  un- 
fortunately, and  I  am  only  too  quickly  brought  back 
to  my  scribbling,  to  my  breakfast,  to  all  that  I 
have  to  do.  As  soon  as  I  am  dressed  I  go  out  into 
the  town.  The  place  itself,  with  its  agglomeration 
of  houses,  of  people,  and  its  shop  windows,  exercise 
a  certain  fascination  which  no  one  escapes.  The  old 
town  of  Cannes  charms  and  attracts  me  always.  I 
stop  at  the  flower-market,  I  go  into  the  book-shop,  I 
stroll  along  on  the  Croisette.  After  lunch  and  the  little 
chat  during  coffee,  I  go  back  to  my  room.  I  lie  down 
on  the  sofa,  read  the  papers  and  sleep  for  a  few  minutes. 
After  this  daily  siesta  I  always  get  up  feeling  fresh  and 
rested.  In  the  afternoon,  either  alone  or  with  someone, 
I  go  for  a  long  walk  or  drive  which  invariably  ends 
with  a  cup  of  tea  at  Rumpelmayer's.  On  returning 
to  the  hotel  I  write  until  dinner  time.  During  the  even- 
ing I  play  cards,  billiards,  dominoes  or  roulette.  All 
games  amuse  and  absorb  me.  When  I  am  at  the  whist- 
table,  for  instance,  nothing  exists  for  me  except  the 
card  combinations.  These  unexpected  combinations, 
which  vary  ad  infinitum  cause  me  a  surprise  of  which 
I  never  weary.  This  is  a  good  example  of  atavism, 
as  my  father  and  grandfather  were  great  gamblers. 
This  distraction,  in  which  there  is  no  question  of  in- 
terest, refreshes  my  brain.  Whilst  at  the  green  table, 
the  characters  in  novels  and  comedies,  all  philosoph- 
ical thoughts  and  troublesome  questions  vanish.  As 


20  ON  THE  BRANCH 

soon  as  I  go  back  to  my  room  they  all  come  to  life  again 
and  I  am  sometimes  obliged  to  work  until  a  very  late 
hour.  I  have  not  a  moment  for  ruminating  over  the 
past,  nor  for  thinking  of  the  horrors  of  the  old  age  which 
is  approaching.  Hotel  life  compels  me  to  pay  more 
attention  to  my  person,  to  my  dress,  to  be  amiable,  even- 
tempered,  not  to  think  of  my  weariness  or  slight  ail- 
ments; in  short  it  prevents  me  from  getting  lax,  phys- 
ically and  morally. 

Cannes. 

When,  in  the  evening,  I  see  all  these  people  of  various 
races  in  the  hotel  rooms,  I  cannot  believe  that  it  is  just 
due  to  chance  or  to  their  own  will  that  they  are  here. 
Some  of  them  come  from  very  far  away,  from  Chili, 
from  San  Francisco.  Is  it  just  to  gossip,  talk  and 
play  games  that  they  have  been  gathered  together  under 
the  same  roof?  No,  it  certainly  is  not.  There  must  be 
under  all  this  some  very  interesting  weaving,  some  com- 
mencement of  things,  an  exchange  of  life  necessary 
to  the  progress  of  all.  They  all  appear  to  belong  to  the 
same  society,  to  the  same  civilization,  and  yet  they  rep- 
resent different  degrees  of  moral  elevation.  Three 
circles  are  constituted  and  reconstituted  invariably:  the 
English  circle,  the  American  circle,  the  French  circle. 

In  the  English  circle  the  women  knit  long,  ribbed  stock- 
ings of  the  kind  so  dear  to  sportsmen,  or  gloves  for 
the  Newfoundland  fishermen.  They  talk  in  a  monot- 
onous voice;  their  faces  are  grave  and  cold,  but  their 
eyes  are  soft.  They  play  cards  with  a  concentrated 
passion  that  is  perfectly  disciplined.  In  the  French 
circle  there  is  more  light  and  vivacity.  The  women 
manufacture  pretty  little  things  in  bright  colours. 
They  talk,  not  perhaps  about  very  elevated  subjects, 
but  the  conversation  is  kept  up  without  flagging.  The 


CANNES  21 

game,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  played  gaily,  with  an  ac- 
companiment of  droll  remarks.  In  the  American  circle 
there  is  more  beauty,  more  elegance  and  youth.  The 
women,  most  of  them  with  large  hats  which  are  appar- 
ently riveted  to  their  heads,  and  purses  with  gold  meshes 
hanging  round  their  wrists,  chatter  unceasingly.  They 
play  poker  with  an  ardour  that  brings  patches  of 
colour  to  their  cheeks.  Some  charming  exotic  women 
come  and  go  among  these  groups.  What  fine  races 
they  represent !  The  setting  of  their  eyes  always  amazes 
me.  On  their  small-featured  faces  one  sees  the  re- 
flection of  a  kindly,  childlike  soul.  The  Russian  and 
Polish  women  stand  out  in  extraordinary  relief.  One 
feels  their  immense  capabilities.  In  these  modern  sur- 
roundings, with  their  intense-looking  expression,  their 
enthusiasm,  they  seem  to  me  curiously  out-of-date.  I 
always  come  back  to  the  American  women  with  pleasure 
and  interest.  When  they  talk  French  all  their  fine  self- 
assurance  vanishes.  Their  expression,  their  very  voices 
soften,  a  something  naive  is  evolved  from  them,  a  some- 
thing very  young,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  real  basis  of 
their  soul.  I  owe  much  to  them.  Their  activity  has 
often  stimulated  my  idleness.  Through  them  I  have, 
as  it  were,  felt  the  ebullition  of  the  life  of  their  country. 
In  the  class  which  I  call  "  Young  America  "  I  notice 
a  growing  nervosity,  an  extreme  lassitude,  a  disgust  of 
money  even.  One  of  them,  after  passing  the  winter 
at  Naples,  said  to  me :  "  How  refreshing  it  is  to  meet 
people  who  are  well-born  and  poor !  "  These  extremely 
worldly  women  have  a  vacillating  look  in  their  eyes,  the 
expression  of  hunted  creatures.  They  come  to  rest 
themselves  in  the  slower  movement  of  our  life,  and  then 
they  start  again,  hurled  afresh  into  the  wild  saraband, 
where  they  will  end  by  falling  down  victims  to  nervous 
prostration.  When  I  observe  them  I  am  not  surprised 


22  ON  THE  BRANCH 

at  the  increasing  number  of  divorces,  at  the  social  dis- 
location, proofs  of  which  are  given  us  in  the  news- 
papers. All  this,  however,  only  happens  on  the  surface, 
and  over  a  very  limited  extent.  There  is  in  the  United 
States  an  admirable  stratum  of  resistance,  a  class  which 
we  scarcely  know,  and  of  which  we  have  no  equivalent. 
The  rigid  principles,  the  indomitable  faith  that  the  emi- 
grants from  England  and  Holland  took  into  the  New 
World  with  their  family  Bible  were  like  a  kind  of  ce- 
ment. It  is  thanks  to  this  cement  that  their  work  of 
founders  resisted  the  assaults  of  adventurers,  and  that 
it  still  resists  the  thrusts  of  the  multitude  greedy  for 
money.  This  Puritan  soul  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  is 
not  confined  to  the  clan  of  their  direct  descendants,  the 
famous  Four  Hundred.  It  is,  perhaps,  enfeebled  there 
but  it  has  penetrated  the  whole  country  —  north,  east, 
and  west.  It  is  predominant  in  Boston  and  in  Phil- 
adelphia. It  has  created  a  kind  of  moral  humus,  thanks 
to  which  we  have  serious,  high-minded  men  and  women. 
When  such  men  and  women  are  three  generations  old 
they  are  what  the  Yankees  call  "  our  best  people,"  and  I 
always  describe  them  as  "  Old  America.'*  In  "  Old 
America "  divorces  are  rare  and  families  very  united. 
The  women  do  not  willingly  leave  their  homes.  They 
only  come  to  Europe,  as  a  rule,  in  order  to  learn,  and 
most  of  them  are  highly  cultured.  The  Puritan  spirit 
causes  their  mentality  to  be  somewhat  limited  and  very 
bourgeois  in  its  severity.  It  manifests  itself  still  with 
them  by  an  absence  of  taste,  a  contempt  for  dress. 
They  are  wanting  in  charm  and  in  brilliancy,  but  they 
give  an  agreeable  impression  of  sincerity  and  of  purity. 
The  question  is  whether  Nature  cannot  give  brilliancy 
to  worthy  people  or  whether  she  does  not  wish  to  do  so. 
I  delight  in  bringing  French  and  American  women 
into  contact  with  each  other.  In  the  most  simple  con- 


CANNES  23 

versation  their  difference  of  character  is  evident.  The 
other  day  I  introduced  a  woman  belonging  to  "  Old 
America  "  to  a  provincial  woman  of  Paris. 

"  Have  you  any  children  ?  "  asked  the  French  woman. 

The  face  of  the  American  woman  lighted  up  prettily. 

"  Four,"  she  replied,  "  and  twelve  grandchildren." 

"  Four  children  and  twelve  grandchildren  and  you 
are  in  Europe?  " 

"  Oh,  they  don't  need  me." 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  if  I  were  in  your  place  I 
should  need  them." 

"What  for?" 

This  "  what  for  "  caused  Madame  de  B a  visible 

shock. 

"  I  write  to  my  children  every  night,'*  continued 
Mrs.  Wilson.  "  I  tell  them  what  I  have  done  and 
what  I  have  seen.  My  letter  leaves  every  Wednesday. 
Each  mail  brings  me  news  from  one  or  the  other  of  them. 
We  are,  therefore,  in  constant  communication.  God  has 
given  me  excellent  health  and  I  ought  to  take  advantage 
of  it.  There  are  so  many  things  still  to  see !  " 

"What  things?" 

"  Sweden,  Norway  —  I  am  going  there  this  sum- 
mer. I  went  to  Japan  at  the  time  of  the  chrysan- 
themums, and  I  must  go  there  again  when  the  cherry- 
trees  are  in  blossom." 

Oh,  the  expression  of  Madame  de  B ,  of  the  left 

bank  of  the  River  Seine,  on  hearing  this  woman  of  fifty- 
five  years  of  age,  a  woman  with  twelve  grandchildren, 
talk  of  going  back  to  Japan  to  see  the  cherry-trees  in 
blossom.  It  amuses  me  whenever  I  think  of  it.  Much 
she  cared  for  Sweden,  Norway  and  Japan.  The  French 
woman,  like  the  Latin  woman  generally,  is  still  entirely 
absorbed  by  man  and  maternity.  When  love  is  over 
she  sees  nothing  else  here  on  earth.  When  her  children 


24  ON  THE  BRANCH 

marry  she  clings  to  them,  endeavours  to  get  back  her 
son  or  her  daughter,  and  is  always  in  the  way  in  the 
new  home.  Most  of  these  women  try  to  find  consola- 
tion in  the  exercise  of  puerile  religious  devotions,  or  in 
some  regular  charitable  work.  All  of  them  grow  old 
very  quickly. 

The  American  woman  prides  herself  in  having  found 
out  the  secret  of  not  growing  old.  Her  advice  is  never 
to  lose  interest  in  life,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  draw  from 
its  best  forces,  to  keep  up  with  it,  to  learn  all  the  time 
and  not  even  to  keep  count  of  the  years.  She  is  scien- 
tifically right.  The  real  fountain  of  youth  is  in  our 
brain.  If  we  keep  up  the  activity  of  its  cells  this  will 
accelerate  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  of  the  vital  fluids, 
give  brilliancy  to  the  eyes,  preserve  the  suppleness  of 
the  body,  keep  off  illness  and  old  age  and  even  death. 
God  grant  that  there  may  be  some  day  in  France  grand- 
mothers capable  of  going,  like  courageous  bees,  to  seek 
afar  beautiful  sights  and  impressions  —  in  a  word,  to 
get  honey  for  their  grandchildren. 

Carmes. 

I  have  never  liked  what  is  known  by  the  pretentious 
name  of  the  Cote  d'  Azur,  and  this  fresh  experience  does 
not  reconcile  me  with  it.  Unnatural  heat  and  blinding 
light,  a  breath  of  mistral  in  the  atmosphere,  which 
sweeps  away  all  mists,  intensifies  the  blue  of  the  sky  and 
sea  to  a  sombre  indigo,  and  gives  a  disagreeable  hardness 
to  all  lines.  Verdure  and  flowers,  it  is  true,  but  the 
silence  of  winter  without  the  songs  of  the  birds.  The 
peasants  kill  the  birds  through  ignorance  and  avarice. 
The  sunsets  are  wonderful,  but  treacherous.  One  would 
like  to  stay  out  in  order  not  to  miss  one  single  effect 
of  the  changing  light,  of  that  golden  violet  which  no 


CANNES  25 

human  palette  can  render,  but  one  is  driven  indoors. 
A  peculiar  humidity  causes  a  deathly  chill  to  run  down 
one's  back.  The  air  is  laden  with  visible  and  invisible 
enemies  and  in  this  pernicious  air  the  mosquitoes,  winged 
poison  as  they  are,  intoxicated  with  their  love,  dance 
their  wild  dance  and  take  in,  perhaps,  a  fresh  provision 
of  venom.  I  must  own  frankly  that  I  prefer  the  sun- 
sets of  Paris.  Though  I  do  not  like  the  South  of  France, 
I  like  the  cosmopolitans  one  meets  there.  Beside  the 
society  people  and  the  gay  set,  there  are  always  a 
number  of  individuals  who  come  there  in  search  of  ob- 
livion or  health,  in  search  of  a  little  physical  or  moral 
warmth.  Something  has  been,  or  is  now,  going  on 
within  their  soul. 

About  a  week  ago,  an  Englishman,  who  at  once  aroused 
my  interest,  arrived  at  the  Hotel  Riche.  He  is  about 
fifty-five  or  sixty  years  of  age.  His  tall,  upright  figure 
gives  him  a  robust  appearance,  but  the  leaden  pallor 
of  his  face,  his  features  which  are  being  chiselled,  as  it 
were,  from  within,  and  his  liquid  eyes  betray  the  work 
of  destruction  that  is  being  accomplished  within  his  fine- 
looking  body.  I  had  seen  from  the  visitors'  list  that 
his  name  was  Sir  William  Randolph.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  his  wife  and,  although  he  seemed  to  wish  to 
keep  aloof,  I  was  sure  that  we  should  make  each  other's 
acquaintance.  In  the  evening,  when  I  was  playing 
bridge,  I  met  his  gaze  several  times  fixed  on  me  with 
an  expression  of  astonishment,  and  I  noticed  on  his 
lips  that  irritating,  humorous  smile  peculiar  to  English- 
men. This  morning,  as  I  was  resting  under  the  veran- 
dah after  my  walk  in  town,  I  saw  him  coming  along 
from  the  far  end  of  the  Park.  My  sympathy  went  out 
involuntarily  towards  him  and  reached  him  in  some  in- 
visible manner,  for  he  came  direct  to  my  arm-chair. 


26  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  the  correct  thing  to 
speak  without  an  introduction  to  an  authoress  in  order 
to  thank  her  for  the  pleasure  she  has  given  me?  " 

"  It  may  not  be  the  correct  thing,  but  it  is  very  nice 
of  you,"  I  answered,  amused  at  this  general  way  of 
entering  into  conversation.  I  pointed  to  a  chair  and 
added :  "  You  like  novels,  then  ?  " 

"  When  they  are  good,  yes,  just  as  I  like  a  good 
cigar.  I  am  not  allowed  to  smoke,  so  I  make  up  for 
that  by  reading  novels.  Don't  you  think  it  strange 
that  a  man  should  require  stories  and  the  theatre  when 
he  has  life  to  look  at  ?  " 

"  No,  for  his  faculties  do  not  allow  him  to  grasp 
things  sufficiently.  The  novel  and  the  theatre  are  not 
the  mirror  of  life,  they  are  life  in  the  mirror.  It  is 
only  there  that  he  can  see  it,  and,  besides,  he  finds  there 
the  complete  action  which  satisfies  his  innate  desire  to 
know  the  end  of  things." 

Sir  William  Randolph  looked  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  I  think  you  have  hit  it,"  he  said.  "  Your  explana- 
tion seems  to  me  very  plausible." 

"  How  did  you  come  across  my  stories  ?  "  I  asked 
curiously. 

"  As  chance  would  have  it,  your  publisher  is  my  book- 
seller, and  he  sent  me  your  two  works  to  Algeria.  I 
opened  them  with  misgiving." 

"  Because  they  were  by  a  French  author,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Precisely.  French  novelists  have  a  great  deal  of 
talent,  but  they  too  often  treat  disagreeable  subjects. 
This  is  a  matter  of  regret  not  only  to  the  *  hypocritical 
English,'  "  said  Sir  William  Randolph,  mischievously, 
"  but  to  refined  people  in  all  countries." 

"  People  do  not  write  the  novels  they  would  like  to 
write,  that  is  very  certain,"  I  said.  "  My  dream  was 


CANNES  27 

to  publish  stories  about  the  humble  classes,  about  ani- 
mals, about  a  strong  and  simple  kind  of  life.  You 
have  seen  what  I  have  written." 

"  I  am  not  sorry,  though.  Your  books  contain  so 
many  thoughts,  and  a  study  of  characters  which  has 
interested  me  keenly,  although  I  have  not  very  much 
sympathy  with  our  American  cousins." 

"  I  should  have  been  surprised  if  it  had  been  other- 
wise," I  said  smiling. 

"  I  have  no  prejudice  against  them,  believe  me. 
Their  faults  shock  me,  and  my  education  prevents  me 
from  appreciating  their  extremely  modern  qualities. 
Judge  for  yourself.  They  are  the  only  women  in  the 
world  who  willingly  leave  their  husband  and  children, 
enjoy  themselves,  and  are  quite  happy  away  from  them." 

"  That  is  true,  but  have  you  ever  thought  that,  if  the 
conjugal  bond  were  as  close  in  their  country  as  in 
ours,  it  would  interfere  with  the  action  of  the  men  and 
hinder  their  work?  Do  you  not  think  that  these  women 
are  the  necessary  agents  of  exchange  between  the  New 
and  the  Old  World,  the  unconscious  vehicles  of  ideas 
and  of  impressions?  " 

"  No ;  I  have  not  a  novelist's  imagination." 

"  There  is  no  imagination  in  that ;  it  is  scientifically 
true.  The  invisible  cargo  of  an  Atlantic  liner  is  consid- 
erably more  important  than  that  which  pays  duty,  but 
in  quite  another  way." 

Sir  William  looked  at  me  an  instant. 

"  You  amaze  me  more  and  more.  When  my  wife 
came  and  told  me  that  you  were  Jean  Noel,  I  did  not 
think  it  possible." 

"  Because  you  thought  I  was  too  old  to  be  a  new 
author?  " 

"  No,  I  could  not  believe  that  the  person  who  had 


28  ON  THE  BRANCH 

stirred  up  ideas  such  as  those  which  had  struck  me, 
could  shuffle  cards  with  such  animation  and  be  so  ab- 
sorbed in  that  abominable  bridge." 

"  But  the  person  is  not  the  same,"  I  exclaimed,  in 
all  good  faith.  "  This  one  is  Madame  de  Myeres,  a 
very  frivolous  woman,  who  would  willingly  finish  her 
life  playing  bezique.  Jean  Noel  was  only  born  five 
years  ago.  He  remained  long  enough  in  limbo,  you 
see." 

"  That  is  why  he  is  so  vigorous.  I  am  glad  of  it, 
for  I  intend  waging  war  with  him  on  many  points." 

"  You  are  not  a  Francophobe,  I  hope?  " 

"  No ;  I  even  have  an  instinctive  liking  for  the  French, 
but  I  do  not  always  understand  them.  I  do  not  under- 
stand them  when  they  exclaim,  after  every  check :  '  We 
have  been  betrayed !  *  I  do  not  understand  them  in 
defeat,  when,  instead  of  rallying  round  their  govern- 
ment, instead  of  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder,  they 
quarrel  and  kill  each  other.  With  us,  Napoleon  might 
have  avenged  Waterloo.  It  was  you  who  sent  him  to 
St.  Helena." 

"  You  are  quite  right." 

"  I  did  not  understand  the  French  in  their  way  of 
treating  Ferry,  in  the  Boulanger  affair,  and  still  less 
in  the  Dreyfus  affair.  Their  attitude  at  the  time  of  our 
war  with  the  Boers  pained  me,  and  had  the  same  effect 
on  other  people.  We  had  been  attacked,  and  we  were 
defeated  at  Majuba  Hill,  and  we  could  not  stop  at  that. 
All  great  nations  have  sins  of  conquest  on  their  con- 
science, if,  indeed,  these  be  sins.  Are  you  not  keeping 
a  certain  little  Malgache  queen  in  exile  ?  " 

"  Your  country  and  mine  are  both  accomplishing  the 
work  that  is  imposed  upon  us,  that  is  all.  But  would 
you  like  me  to  give  you  the  key  to  our  character?  " 

"  Ah?  I  should  be  delighted  if  you  would." 


CANNES  29 

"  Well,  then,  the  Saxon  and  Teutonic  races,  and  their 
various  branches,  are  masculine.  The  Latin,  Slavonic, 
and  Celtic  races  are  feminine.  The  feminine  element 
predominates  in  the  French  soul.  Study  our  history 
and  our  literature,  and  you  will  find  it  there  constantly, 
with  all  its  defects  and  all  its  good  qualities." 

The  face  of  Sir  William  lighted  up. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it  must  be  that !  " 

"  I  have  often  visited  England,"  I  said,  "  and  I 
regret  that  we  should  remain  so  obstinately  foreign  to 
each  other." 

"  And  yet,  in  your  books,  you  have  carefully  excluded 
the  Englishman  from  the  field  of  your  observations,  I 
have  noticed  that." 

"  Well,  you  will  not  lose  anything  by  waiting.  I 
have  a  volume  on  your  country  in  preparation." 

"Oh,  I  shall  enjoy  that!" 

"  I  have  hesitated  a  hundred  times,  with  pen  in  hand, 
before  expressing  an  opinion.  I  have  made  it  a  point 
of  honour  to  be  fair,  as  I  do  not  want  to  be  found 
guilty  of  injustice  or  of  partiality.  At  the  same  time 
I  have  tried  to  give  you  a  clearer  and  truer  idea  of  our 
character.  I  am  sure  that  you  have  never  crossed  the 
threshold  of  a  French  house." 

"  Yes,  I  have.  Three  years  ago  Lably  Randolph  and 
I  met  the  Lussons  at  the  Hotel  Riche.  They  are 
charming  people,  with  a  daughter  of  eighteen.  We 
were  very  soon  on  friendly  terms  with  them,  and  one 
day,  during  the  conversation,  my  wife,  who  is  Irish, 
happened  to  mention  that  one  of  her  cousins  on  her 
mother's  side  had  married  a  Frenchman,  named  La 
Reynie.  To  our  mutual  amazement,  we  discovered  that 
the  said  cousin  was  the  grandmother  of  Madame  de 
Lusson." 

"  Life  has  pleasant  surprises  for  us  sometimes." 


30 

"  And  cruel  ones  still  more  often.  However  that  may 
be,  this  discovery  brought  about  a  very  delightful  friend- 
ship between  us  and  our  new  acquaintances.  They  came 
and  stayed  with  us  for  a  month  at  Simley  Hall,  Staf- 
fordshire. We  paid  them  a  visit  later  on  in  Touraine. 
I  really  came  into  touch  then  with  France,  and  saw  more 
of  your  good  qualities  than  I  had  yet  seen.  The  Lus- 
sons'  estate,  the  Commanderie  de  Rouziers,  is  about 
seven  miles  from  Tours." 

"  The  Commanderie  de  Rouziers ! "  I  exclaimed, 
"Why,  I  know  it!" 

"Really?" 

"  An  adorable  house  in  Louis  XIII  style?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  The  last  ten  years  I  have  spent  the  month  of  Octo- 
ber at  Vouvray  with  some  friends  there.  They  pointed 
out  the  house  to  me  on  one  of  our  excursions." 

"  How  curious  that  is ! "  said  Sir  William  Randolph. 
"  We  shall  find  yet  that  we  have  mutual  ties." 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,  meetings  in  this  world 
are  often  prepared  from  afar — " 

At  this  moment  the  luncheon-bell  rang  and  we  rose. 
I  held  out  my  hand  to  my  companion  and  said  "  Au 
revoir." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  should  like  to  introduce 
my  wife  this  afternoon." 

"  With  pleasure,"  I  answered ;  "  but  to  whom  shall 
you  introduce  her  —  to  Madame  de  Myeres  or  to  Jean 
Noel?  " 

Sir  William  looked  at  me,  hesitated,  and  then,  with  a 
mocking  smile,  replied 

"  I  will  introduce  her  to  Madame  de  Myeres,  for 
she  plays  whist  and  dominoes.  I  will  keep  Jean  Noel 
for  myself,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so." 

"  Very  well,"  I  answered,  and  upon  this  we  separated 


CANNES  31 

and  I  went  upstairs  to  my  room  rather  agitated,  with 
that  sensation  which  always  warn  me,  now  that  some- 
thing has  happened  or  is  about  to  happen.  Was  it  in 
order  to  come  into  contact  with  this  mind  that  I  had 
been  sent  to  Cannes? 

Cannes. 

Well,  we  are  friends  now,  the  Randolphs  and  I! 
Friends!  What  a  delightful  phenomenon  it  is,  this 
friendship  of  human  creatures!  For  a  long  time  they 
walk  along  different  paths,  then  they  cross  suddenly 
towards  the  same  point  and  meet  each  other.  A  hundred 
circumstances  bring  them  together  with  significant  per- 
sistance.  A  photographic  transmission  of  images  and 
impressions  takes  place  between  their  brains.  Each  of 
them  puts  a  little  of  his  substance  into  the  soul  of  the 
other,  enough  to  produce  mutual  vibrations,  more  or 
less  profound,  of  course.  The  Randolphs,  of  whose  very 
existence  I  was  unaware  a  fortnight  ago,  now  know  my 
mother,  that  luminous  figure,  the  memory  of  which 
brightens  my  life.  They  know  my  father,  too,  and  my 
friends,  dead  and  living.  I  have  talked  to  them  of  my 
childhood,  of  my  youth  and,  incidentally,  of  my  mar- 
riage. With  that  intuition  of  refined  natures,  they  felt 
that  this  chapter  contained  something  painful,  and  they 
did  not  want  me  to  dwell  on  it.  I  feel  really  that  from 
henceforth  anything  that  may  happen  to  me,  either 
for  good  or  for  evil,  would  not  be  indifferent  to  them. 
This  is  to  me  both  pleasant  and  embarrassing,  for  I 
have  a  jealous  love  of  my  solitude  and  my  independence. 
They,  on  their  side,  have  told  me  about  their  life.  They 
have  spoken  of  their  eldest  son,  who  died  in  India,  of 
their  married  daughter,  of  their  three  grand-children, 
of  their  son  Claude,  and  of  Simley  Hall,  their  old  family 
home.  I  even  know  the  names  of  all  their  dogs.  Sir 


32  ON  THE  BRANCH 

William  is  at  the  head  of  an  important  colliery  com- 
pany, and  owns  coal  mines  in  Staffordshire.  Few  men 
have  given  me  such  an  impression  of  will-power.  It 
seems  as  though  strength  emanates  from  his  person. 
When  I  walk  with  him  I  have  a  distinct  sensation  of  pro- 
tection. He  must  have  been  very  authoritative,  a  ver- 
itable lord  and  master  for  his  wife  and  for  all  those 
connected  with  him.  The  horrible  affection  of  the  heart, 
which  is  killing  him,  has  evidently  softened  and  trans- 
formed his  character.  At  times  the  sudden  inflation  of 
his  nostrils,  the  instantaneous  rigidity  of  his  lips,  betray 
the  old  man  in  him.  He  reminds  me  of  a  dying  lion. 
There  is  in  him  that  manly  spirituality  which  is  created 
in  the  Englishman  by  the  Bible.  It  is  very  different 
from  the  keen  and  sensual  spirituality  which  drives  cer- 
tain Frenchmen  into  the  cloister  or  to  religious  devotion. 
Sir  William  loves  Nature,  flowers  and  animals  passion- 
ately. Astronomy  is  his  favourite  study.  He  has  had 
an  observatory  built  on  his  estate.  In  the  evening  when 
we  are  strolling  about  under  the  verandah,  his  gaze  is 
always  exploring  the  sky.  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  there 
was  something  particularly  sad  about  the  death  of  his 
eldest  son.  It  weighs  on  his  mind  in  a  way  that  is 
unusual. 

The  day  before  yesterday  I  do  not  remember  what 
we  were  discussing,  but  I  happened  to  say,  as  I  fre- 
quently do,  "  How  beautiful  life  is ! "  He  turned  ab- 
ruptly towards  me  with  his  features  contracted  and  in 
a  sarcastic  tone  said: 

"  Life  beautiful !  With  all  its  baseness,  its  incurable 
ills.  Ah  no,  it  is  not  beautiful.  It  is  very  praiseworthy, 
that  we  should  refrain  from  cursing  it.  Tell  me,  how 
do  you  look  upon  life?  " 

"  As  a  wonderful  assembly  of  forces,  all  contributing 
to  the  universal  work.  We  have  no  right,  either,  to 


CANNES  3S 

judge  it,  as  we  do  not  know  anything  about  its  contin- 
uation or  its  end.  When  I  see  or  think  of  any  of  the 
horrors  here  below,  I  immediately  think  of  something 
that  has  been  improved,  and  I  say  to  myself,  this  -will 
become  that.  Beauty  is  ugliness  corrected,  virtue  is  vice 
purified.  By  what  processes,  Nature  alone  knows." 

"  Oh  well,  I  simply  believe  that  we  all  have  the  in- 
stincts of  brutes,  against  which  we  have  to  struggle 
unceasingly.  There  is,  I  must  confess,  a  certain  pleasure 
in  the  strife." 

"  That  is  very  English !  " 

"  Do  you  also  happen  to  admire  mankind  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Whether  a  man  be  wielding  a 
broom  or  a  sceptre  I  see  in  him  the  agent,  the  instrument 
of  God.  I  consider  that  the  very  humblest  is  as  neces- 
sary as  I  am  myself.  When  once  he  is  on  the  ladder  of 
life  he  never  comes  off  it.  He  may  fall  down  a  few 
steps  or  even  to  the  bottom,  but  he  will  rise  again  and 
will  be  urged  on  inevitably  towards  perfection  and  hap- 
piness." 

"  Where  have  you  obtained  your  information  ?  " 

"  From  science." 

"  Science,  ah,  that  is  good ! " 

"  Well,  science  has  opened  out  infinitev  perspectives 
to  me.  I  believe  now  in  the  promises  of  the  beatitudes, 
which  used  to  make  me  smile  in  my  ignorance.  Logic- 
ally they  must  be  realised.  '  Those  who  are  hungry 
will  be  filled '  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Amen !  "  said  my  companion,  with  a  long  sigh. 

Sir  William's  mockery  is  particularly  cutting.  He  is 
endowed  with  that  faculty  which  is  termed  humour,  by 
means  of  which  he  sees  the  comic  side  of  things  at  once. 
He  adores  chaffing.  I,  too,  take  great  pleasure  in  that, 
and  we  do  not  spare  each  other.  My  aptitude  in  passing 
from  a  frivolous  to  a  very  grave  subject  is  a  constant 


34  ON  THE  BRANCH 

astonishment  to  him.  I  am  the  first  French  woman  with 
whom  he  has  been  able  to  exchange  ideas.  I  see  that  he 
is  perplexed  every  minute.  The  day  before  yesterday  he 
came  and  sat  with  me  under  the  verandah  in  the  morning. 

"  I  would  wager  that  you  are  superstitious,"  he  began, 
as  a  kind  of  attack. 

"  Terribly  so,"  I  replied. 

"  You  do  not  like  to  see  the  new  moon  through  the 
window  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  And  you  believe  in  the  evil  eye  ?  " 

"  I  believe  that  the  meeting  certain  persons  may  coin- 
cide with  happy  events,  and  the  meeting  others  with  un- 
happy events !  Are  we  not  constantly  the  instruments 
of  joy  or  of  sorrow  for  each  other,  the  messengers  of 
good  or  evil  fortune  ?  "  . 

"  Superstitious  temperaments  are  to  be  found  at  the 
two  extremities  of  the  human  ladder :  with  those  who  are 
governed  by  instinct,  and  with  those  whose  sensitive  organ 
is  very  keen." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  caught  this  disease  in  Italy.  By  con- 
stantly hearing  '  that  is  lucky  '  or  '  that  is  unlucky,'  one 
finally  gets  impressed.  Do  you  not  believe  in  presenti- 
ments ?  " 

"  Unfortunately  I  cannot  help  believing  in  them. 
When  my  son  started  for  India,  I  felt,  as  we  shook 
hands  for  the  last  time,  that  I  should  not  see  him  again. 
He  himself,  when  the  boat  was  in  the  roadstead,  asked  his 
mother  for  an  old  song  that  she  used  to  sing  to  him  when 
he  was  a  child." 

"  Something  happened  to  me,  too,"  I  said,  "  which 
was  very  curious.  When  I  was  staying  at  Rome  with 
M.  de  Myeres  the  very  year  of  his  death,  I  went  to  see 
the  Corsini  chapel  at  St.  Jean's  of  Latran,  where  there  is 
a  Pieta  that  I  shall  never  forget.  It  does  not  represent 


CANNES  35 

a  virgin  above  and  beyond  all  humanity,  but  a  simple 
woman  holding,  across  her  knees,  the  body  of  a  man  who 
had  been  racked  by  torture  and  was  now  lifeless,  the  body 
of  a  man  whom  she  had  loved  or  to  whom  she  had  given 
birth.  The  group  is  lighted  up  by  a  reflection  which 
leaves  the  crypt  in  shadow.  This  grief,  intensified 
by  the  light,  was  communicated  magnetically  to  me, 
although  I  was  neither  a  believer  nor  a  mother.  I  broke 
into  sobs,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  other  visitors.  The 
more  I  wiped  away  my  tears  the  more  they  flowed.  Six 
months  later  my  husband  was  taken  from  me.  Whilst, 
in  my  anguish,  I  was  preparing  him  for  the  grave,  the 
Pieta  group  came  again  to  my  mind,  and  I  saw  myself  in 
the  same  attitude  as  the  woman  of  the  Corsini  chapel. 
Sometimes,  as  you  say  so  truly  in  English,  '  Coming 
events  cast  their  shadows  before  them.'  " 

"  That  is  quite  certain." 

"  Is  not  that  a  proof  that  our  destiny  is  fore- 
ordained? " 

"  A  proof,  yes,  but  it  may  be  a  fallacious  one,"  and, 
turning  to  me  with  his  nostrils  quivering  with  mischief, 
he  added: 

"  The  prettiest  proof  would  be  for  love  to  be  a  fluid, 
as  you  affirm  in  your  last  novel.  We  have  felt  it, 
both  you  and  I,  formerly  —  I  should  like  to  see  it 
now." 

"  To  see  it ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  But  what  do  you  see 
here  below?  Only  things.  Have  you  ever  seen  an  idea, 
a  thought,  a  sentiment  ?  " 

Sir  William  Randolph's  face  expressed  a  sudden  be- 
wilderment. 

"  Why,  no,  I  never  even  took  into  account  that  I  had 
not  seen  them." 

"  And  yet  they  lead  you  along,  these  great  Invisibles. 
They  overturn  the  world ;  they  make  it  live,  act  — •" 


86  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Was  it  between  two  games  of  bridge  that  you  dis- 
covered that?  " 

"  Perhaps  so :  it  was  certainly  not  during  the  game." 

"  I  suppose  not.  Joking  apart,  though,  you  must 
have  thought  a  great  deal." 

"  What  is  there  to  do,  on  the  branch,  unless  one  thinks  ? 
Jean  Noel  has  acquired  a  little  of  the  wisdom  that  you 
attribute  to  old  owls.  He  has  become  '  as  wise  as  an 
owl.'  " 

As  though  these  daily  conversations  did  not  make  us 
intimate  enough,  the  Randolphs  invited  me  every  after- 
noon to  share  their  carriage,  and  we  have  been  to  all  the 
suburbs  of  Cannes  together.  The  spring  is  now  very 
far  advanced.  The  blue  tones  get  softer  each  day,  and 
there  is  more  gold  in  the  violet  shades  of  the  setting  sun. 
Those  birds  which  have  escaped  the  stupid  massacre  at- 
tempted on  them,  and  also  those  which  have  come  back 
from  afar,  are  beginning  to  sing  of  love.  Yesterday,  on 
ascending  a  hill,  I  had  the  sensation  of  entering  a  bath  of 
azure  and  of  vibrating  light.  The  real  season  of  the 
Riviera  ought  to  be  the  summer. 

On  returning  from  the  drive  Lady  Randolph  usually 
prepares  some  excellent  tea  for  us.  Her  invalid  then 
takes  a  little  rest,  and  she  and  I  play  piquet  until  the 
dinner  hour.  She  is  the  true  type  of  the  gentle,  sub- 
missive English  wife.  She  recognizes,  with  touching 
humility,  the  great  superiority  of  her  husband.  She  is 
delighted  that  he  finds  some  pleasure  in  talking  to  me. 
And  these  new  friends  who  have,  as  it  were,  adopted  me 
are  leaving  to-morrow.  I  regret  this  very  much,  and 
should  like  to  have  returned  to  Paris  at  the  same  time  as 
they  do,  but  my  room  at  the  hotel  will  not  be  free 
for  a  week. 

This  evening  after  dinner,  as  we  were  walking  up  and 


CANNES  S7 

down  for  the  last  time  under  the  verandah,  Sir  William 
Randolph  asked  me  whether  I  intended  to  go  to  England 
in  June. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  going  to  Touraine  to 
see  the  springtime  there.  It  is  a  fancy  I  have  had  for 
some  time." 

"  Would  you  not  give  up  this  fancy  for  my  sake  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  My  wife  intends  asking  you  to  come  and  spend 
some  weeks  at  Simley  Hall." 

"  Next  year,  if  you  like,"  I  answered. 

He  stopped  short  and  turned  towards  me. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  will  live  another  year?  " 
he  asked  me  in  a  bitter  tone. 

A  pang  went  through  my  heart,  but  I  had  strength 
enough  to  hide  my  feelings. 

"  You  have  a  constitution  capable  of  resisting  disease 
for  a  long  time,  and  of  even  conquering  it,"  I  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  observed,  with  sorrowful 
irony.  "  I  am  not  of  your  opinion.  Anyhow,  I  cer- 
tainly have  the  right  to  be  a  despot.  I  should  like  to 
show  you  my  favourite  stars,  the  little  village  I  have 
built,  Simley  and  its  old  trees.  Let  me  have  this  pleas- 
ure, and  come  in  June." 

Some  inward  force  obliged  me  to  yield,  and  I  answered : 

"  Very  well,  then  —  June.  You  see  there  is  no  need 
to  press  me  much." 

An  expression  of  joy  lighted  up  the  face  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam. 

"  You  are  kindness  itself,"  he  said.  "  We  will  invite 
the  Lussons  as  we  pass  through  Paris,  so  that  your  visit 
will  be  more  pleasant.  We  shall  have  young  people  — 
my  son,  my  daughter  and  grandchildren.  Madame  de 
Myeres  will  not  be  short  of  partners  for  bridge,  and  Jean 
Noel  will  be  able  to  study  an  English  family,  quite  of 


38  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  old  school.  Such  families  are  disappearing  fast,  you 
know.  Altogether,  we  shall  do  our  best  to  entertain 
you." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  expect  to  be  very  happy." 

"  Well,  then,  we  can  count  on  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  suppose  a  Frenchman  would  kiss  your 
hand,"  said  Sir  William  with  a  flash  of  mockery  in  his 
eyes,  "  but  there  are  some  things  that  John  Bull  cannot 
do,  and  this  is  one  of  them." 

And  so  my  compass  now  points  to  England.  My  visit 
to  Cannes  has  changed  all  my  plans.  Was  that  the  ob- 
ject of  it? 

Cannes. 

I  feel  very  lonely  now.  The  season  is  nearly  at  an 
end,  and  our  number  diminishes  every  day.  The  table 
d'hote  is,  after  all,  the  vulgar  image  of  what  the  poet 
Gilbert  called  "The  Banquet  of  Life."  People  disap- 
pear and  whilst  the  absence  of  one  person  causes  a  sensa- 
tion of  emptiness,  which  is  often  very  sorrowful,  the 
absence  of  another  does  not  affect  one  at  all.  This  fact, 
although  commonplace,  is  curious.  It  indicates,  in  my 
opinion,  the  existence  of  an  isolating  fluid.  It  is,  thanks 
to  this  fluid,  that  we  can  pass  through  a  crowd  without 
mixing  with  it,  without  coming  into  touch  with  it. 
Otherwise,  we  should  fall  over  each  other  like  card 
houses,  or  we  should  embrace  each  other  or  tear  each 
other  to  pieces.  Ah,  what  would  be  left  of  us  if  it  were 
not  for  this  invisible  barrier!  It  seems  to  me  that  here 
on  earth  beings  are  grouped  into  systems.  When,  at  the 
turning-points  of  our  road,  we  happen  to  come  across 
people  unexpectedly,  whom  we  have  seen  elsewhere,  we 
say,  How  small  the  world  is !  It  is  not  the  world  that  is 
small,  but  our  respective  orbits,  circles  or  ellipses. 


CANNES  39 

Although  separated  by  considerable  distance,  by  ob- 
stacles of  all  kinds,  the  individuals  who  belong  to  the 
same  system  meet  always  at  a  given  moment  and  for  un- 
known ends.  Hidden  affinities,  conducting  wires  unite 
or  re-unite  them,  they  have  an  influence  on  each  other, 
affect  each  other  mutually,  and,  however  fugitive  may  be 
the  contact,  the  glance  or  pressure  of  the  hand,  it  leaves 
an  impression  and  produces  the  vibrations  necessary  to 
life  in  common.  When  the  time  comes  to  say  farewell, 
we  feel  the  bonds  that  have  been  formed  without  our 
knowledge.  The  breaking  of  them  is  like  the  tearing 
away  of  a  thousand  small  inward  fibres.  The  railway 
train  makes  departures  particularly  painful.  It  looks  as 
implacable  as  Fate,  as  Nature.  We  understand  that  no 
human  cry  will  make  it  slacken  its  pace,  and  that  it  will 
not  give  us  back  those  it  takes  away.  A  carriage,  on  the 
contrary,  leaves  us  with  a  vague  hope,  a  possibility  of  re- 
turn. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  season,  either  at  a  watering 
place  or  elsewhere,  whenever  I  hear  people  talking  of 
their  home,  I  realise  my  own  uprootal.  It  causes  me  a 
slight  shock,  some  sorrow,  and  a  kind  of  humiliation. 
At  holiday  times,  too,  I  feel  the  lack  of  a  home.  Its 
warmth  is  wanting,  and  I  shiver  inwardly,  but  when  such 
moments  are  over  I  am  glad  to  be  "  on  the  branch." 


Ill 


PARIS 

Hotel  de  Castiglione,  Paris. 

ON  arriving  at  the  station  I  had  no  family  nor  even 
any  servants  to  meet  me.  There  was  the  little  yellow 
omnibus  of  the  Lyons-Mediterranean  Co.,  and  after  that 
the  hotel,  everyone's  abode,  and  a  bedroom  which  had  be- 
longed to  someone  else  yesterday.  I  should  like  to  keep 
my  beloved  bedroom  and  lock  it  up  when  I  go  away. 
However,  I  shall  soon  make  it  mine  again.  It  is  curious 
that,  although  it  has  been  occupied  by  strangers  for 
several  months,  as  soon  as  I  go  into  it  again  it  once 
more  becomes  familiar,  and  it  seems  as  though  I  find  some 
of  my  own  life  there.  I  have  thought  so  many  thoughts 
in  that  room,  had  so  many  memories  and  meditated  so 
much  there.  Surely,  all  that  must  leave  traces.  The 
table  invites  me  to  work  as  though  it  were  a  medium's 
table.  There  is  no  place  where  my  brain  is  so  active, 
no  place  where  I  feel  such  keen  inspiration.  It  is  in 
this  room,  no  doubt,  that  I  am  to  accomplish  the  work  of 
my  last  days.  I  will  start  on  it,  at  any  rate,  gaily. 

I  am  always  glad  to  get  back  to  Paris  again.  It  is 
the  one  spot  on  this  planet  that  I  shall  regret  the  most. 
I  love  it  as  one  loves  an  individual,  and  I  quite  agree  with 
the  person  who  says  that  there  are  certain  landscapes 
one  would  like  to  kiss.  I  remember  one  evening,  in  the 
Tuileries,  looking  at  the  beautiful  view  of  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  at  the  end  of  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees, 

40 


PARIS  41 

with  the  setting  sun  adding  its  glory  to  the  scene,  and 
I  stretched  out  my  arms  in  an  irresistible  impulse  of  affec- 
tion. In  my  opinion  the  beauty  of  Paris  is  not  due 
merely  to  its  topography,  its  well-cut  streets,  its  monu- 
ments, its  elegance,  but  also  to  its  sky,  its  atmosphere, 
its  soul.  Its  sky  has  tones  of  infinite  delicacy  and 
variety,  it  is  never  too  low  nor  too  high;  its  atmosphere 
is  light,  its  mists  bluish,  its  haze  of  pearl-grey.  Its 
soul  is  young,  gay,  enthusiastic,  idealistic,  passionate  and 
violent;  its  vibrations  have  a  champagne-like  effect  on 
the  air,  and  communicates  to  everyone  a  kind  of  exulta- 
tion and  sprightliness.  There  is  no  city  more  misunder- 
stood and  more  slandered.  On  throwing  a  penny  into 
certain  Cinematographs,  they  instantly  give  a  picture 
of  the  Moulin  Rouge,  or  of  other  similar  places.  In  the 
same  way,  in  the  majority  of  foreign  masculine  brains, 
the  word  Paris  suggests  the  picture  of  a  half -naked 
woman  with  her  feet  up  in  the  air,  or  else  the  exhibitions 
of  the  cafe-concert.  The  feminine  mind  conjures  up 
furbelows  and  jewellery,  together  with  forbidden  fruit  of 
all  flavours.  It  is  not  in  the  penny  Cinematographs  that 
one  ought  to  see  Paris,  as  they  cannot  register  its  higher 
life,  and  the  higher  life  of  Paris  is  intense.  People  may 
enjoy  themselves  more  there,  but  they  pray  more  there, 
and  they  love  and  work  more  there,  too.  Paris  is  for  me 
an  inexhaustible  source  of  impressions.  Formerly  it 
used  to  amuse  me,  but  now  it  interests  me  profoundly. 
In  December  and  in  January,  I  like  to  go  into  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix,  between  five  and  six  o'clock,  the  hour  of  flirta- 
tion and  of  the  amorous  aperitive.  The  whole  length  of 
the  dazzling  shop-windows  Vie  Parisienne  personages  file 
by,  Lavedan's  characters,  those  who  "  cultivate  their  beau- 
tiful physique."  One  recognises  the  hats,  the  stockings, 
the  petticoats,  etc.  The  very  sight  of  them  is  amusing. 
All  these  society  women  and  these  demi-mondaines  are 


42  ON  THE  BRANCH 

more  interesting  than  would  be  imagined.  They  are 
very  courageous,  and  they  suffer  just  as  you  do,  and  just 
as  we  all  do.  Their  small  minds  writhe  with  envy  and 
jealousy,  and  are  pierced  with  pin-pricks,  and  nothing 
reaches  the  heart  so  surely  and  so  thoroughly  as  pin- 
pricks. In  spite  of  the  brilliancy  of  their  ornaments,  I 
have  surprised  expressions  of  despair,  and  I  have  seen 
spasms  of  grief  end  in  smiles.  Every  evening  these 
people  come  to  this  part  of  Paris,  as  though  drawn 
thither  by  the  attraction  of  diamonds  and  precious  stones, 
and  all  kinds  of  feelings  are  aroused  in  their  minds. 
They  meet  each  other  here,  and  there  are  greetings  and 
merry  outbursts  of  laughter.  This  human  fluttering 
about  always  reminds  me  of  the  dance  of  mosquitoes. 
It  is  not  so  prolific,  but  it  must  come  into  the  same  order 
of  facts.  It  lasts  for  an  hour,  and  then  everyone  disap- 
pears ;  the  street  looks  as  usual,  the  scene  is  played  out, 
and  I  always  have  an  idea  that  something  1  as  happened. 
Twenty  yards  further  on  something  else  happens, 
something  immense,  colossal.  At  the  absinthe  hour,  the 
five  o'clock  of  the  frequenters  of  the  Boulevards,  from 
the  Madeleine  to  the  Rue  Drouot,  the  crowd  becomes  com- 
pact, brought  thither  no  one  knows  how,  from  the  four 
cardinal  points  of  the  capital.  Hands  meet  and  grasp 
each  other.  There  is  a  rapid,  extraordinary  transmis- 
sion of  thought,  of  ideas,  opinions  and  sentiments. 
Business  affairs  are  arranged,  resulting  in  the  ruin  of  one 
man  and  the  fortune  of  another.  This  person  is  praised 
and  that  one  run  down.  Words  are  uttered  which  will 
have  unforeseen  consequences,  either  dire  or  happy  ones. 
The  germs  of  disease  or  of  death  are  absorbed.  Love, 
hatred,  jealousy,  all  meet  here,  and  this  lasts  an  hour  at 
the  most,  then  everyone  separates,  and  the  inevitable 
work  has  been  accomplished.  I  am  lost  in  admiration  in 
face  of  the  Power  which  directs  this  human  tide,  which 


PARIS  43 

knows  how  each  of  the  thoughts  of  these  thousands  of 
brains  and  each  of  all  the  movements  of  these  bodies  will 
end.  Sometimes,  when  passing  through  a  crowd,  I  see 
partially,  as  though  by  the  gleam  of  a  flash  of  lightning, 
the  work  that  is  being  done,  and  I  stop  short,  dazed  as  it 
were,  frightened,  and  then  I  hurry  away  quickly.  Life 
is  always  in  fusion  throughout  the  entire  universe;  but 
in  certain  places,  at  certain  moments,  fixed  or  not  fixed, 
a  still  fiercer  ebullition  takes  place  and  this  is  destined 
to  accelerate  the  march  of  humanity ;  it  is,  perhaps,  a  pro- 
cess of  clarification.  And  so  it  is  that  in  this  vat  called 
Paris,  there  are  at  intervals,  at  fixed  times,  various  ebul- 
litions. In  the  Churches  there  is  an  ebullition  of 
ideality ;  in  the  universities  and  the  laboratories  an  ebul- 
lition of  thought.  In  Parliament  there  is  an  ebullition  of 
what  ?  —  alas !  not  of  patriotism,  but  of  political  pas- 
sions, of  ambition  and  of  envy.  At  the  Moulin  Rouge, 
and  places  of  that  kind,  there  is  an  ebullition  of  inferior 
and  sensual  life.  In  the  districts  inhabited  by  the  work- 
ing classes  there  is  an  ebullition  of  material  forces,  of 
courage,  spite,  love,  hatred,  and  especially  of  pain  and 
grief.  The  latter  is  the  most  prolonged,  the  most  in- 
teresting, too.  Yes,  it  really  seems  to  me  that  I  know 
"  where  to  sit  down  in  order  to  see  life,"  for  I  see  it  all 
the  time  more  beautiful  and  more  grand  —  oh,  so  grand, 
that  I  am  rather  in  awe,  and  yet  I  have  confidence. 

Paris. 

When  one  comes  into  contact  with  the  upper  ten,  one 
is  out  of  love  with  all  humanity,  but  when  one  observes 
the  people  one  is  reconciled  again  to  humanity.  That 
is  the  conclusion  to  which  I  came  this  afternoon.  The 
Figaro  announced  a  Charity  Bazaar  at  the  house  of  the 
D 's.  All  the  organisers,  belonging  to  our  best  aris- 
tocracy, were  to  dress  in  the  costumes  peculiar  to  our  old 


44  ON  THE  BRANCH 

provinces.  This  was  the  chief  attraction.  The  recon- 
stitution  of  the  peasantry  in  one  of  those  beautiful 
eighteenth  century  mansions,  which  are  my  delight,  could 
not  fail  to  tempt  me  irresistibly.  I  therefore  went  to  the 

Rue  de  Varennes. .  At  the  entrance,  the  Marquis  d'A , 

wearing  a  wide  hat,  an  embroidered  waistcoat,  a  short  vel- 
vet coat,  knee-breeches,  gaiters  and  thick  shoes,  received 
my  two-franc  piece  and,  beside  allowing  me  to  pass, 
favoured  me  with  a  gracious  smile,  as  a  well-born  peasant 
had  to  be  generous. 

I  crossed  the  hall  and  passed  through  a  long  suite  of 
reception-rooms.  The  French  windows  opened  on  to  one 
of  those  old  gardens  only  to  be  seen  now  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain.  There  was  a  background  of  large  trees 
and  walls  covered  with  ivy,  a  badly  cut  lawn,  bushes  of 
rhododendrons  and  lilac,  flowers  along  the  borders  and 
pebbled  paths. 

In  the  midst  of  this  scenery,  which  the  springtime 
made  more  modern,  were  small  shops,  rustic  pavilions,  an 
orchestra  of  supposed  gipsies,  groups  of  women  in  light 
dresses,  the  effect  of  which  was  toned  down  by  the  sombre 
costumes  of  the  dowagers  and  the  black  cassocks  of  the 
priests.  Standing  out  in  relief  were  the  costumes  of 
Brittany,  Anjou  and  Poitou,  worn  by  girls  and  young 
men,  who  were  moving  to  and  fro,  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  showing  themselves  off,  full  face,  profile  and  back 

view.     I  went  to  Mademoiselle  de  C and  asked  for  a 

cup  of  tea.  She  waited  on  me  very  graciously.  In  the 
dairy  a  superb  cow  was  installed.  Well  groomed  for  the 
occasion,  its  coat  shone  more  brilliantly  than  a  society 
man's  hat.  It  appeared  to  be  hypnotised  by  the  aristc 
cratic  surroundings  in  which  it  found  Itself.  Only  to 
think  of  being  received  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 
(It  was  for  the  sake  of  its  milk,  it  is  true;  but,  all  the 
same,  what  an  honour!)  Even  a  beast  may  expect  any- 


PARIS  45 

ihmg  here  below.  This  one  stood  there  motionless, 
neither  ruminating  nor  eating,  but  gazing  at  these  imita- 
tion peasants  with  so  bewildered  and  so  anxious  an  ex- 
pression that  I  could  not  help  laughing.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  the  shock  had  dried  up  its  milk. 

I  strolled  about  rather  a  long  time  in  the  crowd. 
Among  the  young  men,  under  many  of  the  Breton  or 
Vendean  hats,  I  saw  some  interesting  faces  of  the  old 
type,  faces  that  were  extremely  refined,  but  in  which  there 
was  no  sign  of  strength.  The  listless  expression,  the  slow 
movements,  the  languid  bearing  of  these  young  men  be- 
trayed a  lack  of  vitality  which  must  make  them  unfit  for 
any  struggle.  Oh,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  other  men 
than  these  are  needed  to  guide  the  ship  of  France  past  the 
modern  rocks.  I  understood  better  than  I  had  ever  done 
why  the  command  had  been  taken  from  them.  I  have  no 
doubt  but  that  in  the  moment  of  danger  the  fire  of  hero- 
ism would  shine  in  these  blue  or  brown  eyes,  that  these 
slender  bodies  would  strain  themselves  to  the  very  death  in 
an  effort  of  hereditary  bravery  to  defend  their  country, 
but  they  do  not  know  how  to  live  for  her;  and  in  broad 
daylight,  parading  about  in  this  old  garden,  dressed  up  in 
fancy  costumes,  these  grand  seigneurs  cut  a  rather  sorry 
figure.  After  the  young  men,  I  looked  at  the  girls. 
With  them  there  was  more  distinction  than  beauty,  no 
individuality,  very  dreamy  eyes,  but  it  was  an  anagmic 
dreaminess.  No  freshness,  no  light  in  their  faces,  a 
something  almost  old-looking.  All  of  them  reminded  me 
of  convent  flowers.  As  to  the  women  between  fifty  and 
sixty  years  of  age,  it  was  rather  painful  to  see  them. 
Enormous,  shapeless  and  badly  dressed,  it  was  evident 
that  Court  etiquette  had  not  disciplined  them,  and  that 
they  were  ignorant  or  disdainful  of  the  laws  of  modern 
hygiene.  The  carriage  of  their  heads  was  fine,  a  shade 
of  melancholy  softened  their  severe  and  rigid  expression. 


46  ON  THE  BRANCH 

There  was  an  air  of  moral  and  aristocratic  authority 
about  them  which  prevented  anyone  from  taking  them  for 
ordinary  middle-class  women.  I  glanced  round  in  search 
of  the  American  duchesses  and  countesses.  It  seemed  as 
though  they  ought  to  stand  out  in  relief  in  this  dull,  Old 
World,  milieu.  Strangely  enough,  they  almost  mingled 
with  it.  They  have  copied  its  tone  and  manners,  adopted 
its  prejudices,  forsworn  their  own  gods,  either  through 
snobbishness  or  under  the  influence  of  suggestion,  but 
they  have  not  yet  succeeded  in  acquiring  its  charm.  They 
are  stiff  and  unnatural,  veritable  counterfeits.  I  do  not 
believe,  though,  that  they  have  been  drawn  into  this  Old 
World  for  the  mere  gratification  of  their  vanity,  but  to 
bring  into  it  elements  of  evolution.  They  are  probably 
to  transmit  to  their  children  the  new  spirit,  modified  so 
that  it  may  be  more  easily  absorbed.  The  working  of 
Providence  is  so  marvellously  profound. 

What  was  so  comic  and  characteristic  in  this  Charity 
Bazaar  was  that  everyone  appeared  to  be  attending  to 
something  else.  The  Mothers  of  the  Church  talked  with 
their  spiritual  director,  the  young  people  flirted.  The 
stall-holders  forgot  to  make  the  most  of  the  articles  for 
sale.  They  talked  to  each  other,  left  their  counters  in 
order  to  go  and  have  a  word  with  first  one  person  and 
then  another.  The  receipts  must  have  suffered,  for 
money  rarely  comes  by  itself  into  the  treasury  of  the 
poor.  In  a  corner,  though,  there  was  a  sale  by  auction 
of  a  quantity  of  extraordinary  ob  j  ects.  The  aristocratic 
auctioneer  was  droll,  but  one  expected  still  more  from 
him.  He  was  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
and  witty  men  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  it  was  a 
case  of  Noblesse  oblige.  Perhaps,  though,  all  that  he 
needed  was  a  little  more  training.  A  few  women  of  the 
upper  middle  class  suddenly  appeared  in  the  old  garden. 
Their  elegance,  enhanced  by  jewellery,  their  modernity 


PARIS  47 

made  a  striking  contrast.  They  took  a  few  turns  along 
the  garden  paths,  whispering,  laughing,  exchanging 
smiles,  examining  people  and  things  with  visible  curiosity. 
They  bought  right  and  left,  most  generously,  with  a  cer- 
tain ostentation,  and  then  they  disappeared.  They  prob- 
ably thought  that  it  was  better  than  this  at  home.  Yes, 
it  may  have  been  better,  but  not  as  good,  perhaps. 

A  Royal  Highness  honoured  the  bazaar  with  his  pres- 
ence. All  homage  was  paid  to  him.  The  young  men 
escorted  him  about  and  the  Dowagers  made  him  Court 
reverences.  It  was  as  though  we  had  returned  to  the 
days  of  His  Majesty,  Louis  Phillippe,  or  farther  back 
even.  The  men  took  off  their  peasants'  hats  with  that 
graceful  movement  of  the  left  hand  which  they  had  in- 
herited from  their  ancestors  of  beplumed  hats.  They 
kissed  the  womens'  hands,  bent  the  knee  before  them,  when 
offering  them  lottery  tickets,  with  a  naturalness  and  grace 
in  which  something  of  the  olden  times  lived  again.  The 
whole  of  the  afternoon  I  had  the  sensation  of  the  past, 
and  this  sensation  was  singularly  agreeable,  infinitely 
restful. 

At  dinner,  that  evening,  the  hotel  dining-room  was  full 
of  American  women,  most  of  them  very  pretty  and  dressed 
charmingly.  Some  of  them  had  been  to  Versailles,  Fon- 
tainebleau,  the  races,  and  others  were  going  to  the  Opera. 
The  husbands  were  in  America,  of  course,  and,  with  the 
sense  they  have  of  their  right  to  freedom  and  amusement, 
these  women  were  "  having  a  good  time,"  as  they  say  in 
their  child-like  way.  Were  they  happier  than  their 
sisters,  the  duchesses  and  countesses  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  ?  The  scales  for  weighing  human  happi- 
ness are  in  the  hands  of  God  alone.  I  compared,  in  my 
mind,  the  retrospective  picture  I  had  seen  in  the  Rue  de 
Varennes  with  the  one  I  had  before  my  eyes,  and  I  real- 
ised the  superior  value  of  the  former  one.  It  had  re- 


48  ON  THE  BRANCH 

quired  centuries  to  produce  the  harmony  which  had 
charmed  me,  and  even  that  lack  of  moral  vigour  which  had 
saddened  me.  The  second  scene  was  like  a  water-colour 
sketch,  quickly  and  vigorously  washed  in,  giving  a  vivid 
impression  of  life  and  youth.  In  each  of  these  pictures 
one  could  follow  the  thought  and  recognise  the  hand  of 
the  Master.  In  order  to  follow  that  thought  and  to  see 
the  hand,  it  had  been  really  necessary  for  me  to  be  placed 
"  on  the  branch." 

Paris. 

Since  my  return  to  Paris  I  have  noticed  that  the  circle 
of  my  life  has  become  considerably  smaller.  Absorbed 
beyond  measure  by  my  last  novel,  I  refused  invitation 
after  invitation,  left  a  number  of  letters  unanswered,  neg- 
lected to  return  visits,  in  a  word,  failed  in  all  my  social 
duties.  My  physical  activity  has  also  slackened.  Res- 
taurant dinners,  theatres,  driving  in  the  Bois,  all  tempt 
me  less  and  less.  For  the  first  time  the  Salon  has  left  me 
indifferent.  Is  it  really  old  age  that  has  come  upon  me? 
Paris  life  is  so  intense  that  one  feels  it,  according  to  one's 
affinities,  without  taking  part  in  it.  The  waves  of  it 
come  as  far  as  my  room  and  communicate  to  me  the  im- 
pression of  a  social  or  artistic  fete.  I  see  the  reunions  of 
Auteuil,  of  Bagatelle,  the  polo  matches,  feminine  figures, 
light  dresses  standing  out  against  the  green  of  the  lawns 
with  a  clearness  which  satisfies  me  and  encourages  my 
idleness.  I  live  on  the  effluvium  of  things  now-a-days. 
This  new  state  of  mind  has  made  too  much  emptiness 
around  me,  and  this  causes  me  some  sadness.  It  is  so 
much  like  the  end!  Madame  de  Myeres  has  become  a 
stranger  in  her  own  country.  Jean  Noel  lives  apart  from 
the  literary  world  and,  between  the  two,  they  have  not 
the  social  position  of  a  retired  grocer. 

It  is  only  the  last  few  years  that  I  have  noticed  the 


PARIS  49 

help  that  Providence  gives  us.     In  my  hours  of  extreme 
weariness,  someone  or  something  has  always  been  sent  to 
me  to  reanimate  or  to  encourage  me.     Sometimes  it  has 
been  a  few  words  from  one  of  my  unknown  readers.     A 
"  bravo  "  even  came  to  me  from  the  extreme  limits  of 
Alaska.     Sometimes  it  has  been  the  reappearance  in  my 
orbit  of  a  person  whom  I  like,  and  sometimes  flowers  have 
been  sent  me.     In  one  of  my  bad  moments,  at  my  table  in 
the  hotel,  I  looked  up  and  met  the  kind,  intelligent  eyes 
of  two  American  women  who  had  arrived  the  evening  be- 
fore.    A  current  of  sympathy  was  at  once  established 
between  us.     By  means  of  that  apparatus  for  wireless 
telegraphy,  which  we  have  behind  our  foreheads,  we  en- 
tered into  communication  with  each  other,  we  exchanged 
smiles  and  then  words,  the  inevitable  liaison  was  made, 
and  this  liaison  has  warmed  my   life   again   with  real 
friendship.     There  is  the  invitation  of  the  Randolphs 
now.     It  has  just  come  in  time.     I  feel  the  need  of  a  rest 
from  the  hotel,  of  coming  down  a  little  from  the  branch. 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  cramp  in  my  limbs  and  in  my 
heart.     I  want  to  see  some  children,  to  stroke  some  ani- 
mals, to  hear  the  songs  of  birds,  the  purring  of  cats,  to 
breathe  the  perfume  of  living  flowers     ...     I  have 
an  infinite  need  of  plenty  of  air  and  space.     I  shall  have 
all  that  at  Simley  Hall,  and  I  am  enjoying  it  in  advance. 
I  leave  Paris  to-morrow.     It  is  extraordinary  that  the 
unmooring  of  a  poor  little  barque  like  mine  should  re- 
quire so  much  effort  and  movement.     I  am  always  sur- 
prised at  the  amount  of  trifles  that  a  human  being  can 
accumulate.     Papers,  cards,  bills,  odds  and  ends,  pieces 
of  lace  and  of  ribbon  increase  with  incredible  rapidity. 
It  is  all  in  vain  that  I  destroy,  burn,  give  away,  some- 
thing always  remains  at  the  moment  of  my  departure. 
A  few  years  ago  I  owned  five  trunks ;  I  have  now  only 
three  —  my  inseparable  one,  and  then  the  two  which  I 


50  ON  THE  BRANCH 

leave  at  the  hotel.  This  simplification  delights  me ;  I  ex- 
perience a  curious  pleasure  in  throwing  out  ballast.  I 
am  more  of  a  grasshopper  than  an  ant.  I  admire  the 
American  women  who,  uprooted  as  I  am,  without  chil- 
dren, without  home  (and  there  are  legions  of  them),  go 
on  buying  all  along  their  solitary  road  a  quantity  of 
things  which  "  fascinate  them,"  as  they  say :  old  ivories, 
valuable  laces,  old  jewellery.  They  fill  case  after  case 
with  these  things,  and  frequently  do  not  see  them  again 
but  deposit  them  with  —  their  banker!  It  evidently  is 
not  for  themselves  that  they  forage.  The  objects  that 
they  collect  are  destined  to  delight  other  eyes,  to  pro- 
duce the  necessary  impressions  in  other  brains,  but  in 
whose?  How  interesting  it  would  be  to  be  able  to  fol- 
low, for  rather  a  longer  time,  human  work.  And  what 
about  mine?  It  is  not  for  my  own  pleasure  that  I  tran- 
scribe these  thoughts  which  are  elaborated  slowly  and 
painfully  in  my  mind.  The  germ  of  them  comes  from 
very  far  off,  perhaps.  What  life  will  come  forth  from 
these  parcels  of  my  life?  It  is  annoying  not  to  see  all 
this  at  once.  I  know  at  least  that  I  shall  not  die,  and 
I  begin  to  suspect  that  I  have  been  living  a  long  time. 
And  yet  there  are  people  who  think  life  stupid!  Ah, 
well,  they  have  sight,  but  not  vision.  This  latter  came 
to  me  late,  and  only  after  a  series  of  very  painful  opera- 
tions. I  no  longer  pity  myself,  as  it  was  well  worth 
all  I  suffered. 


IV 

ENGLAND 

Simley  Hall,  Staffordshire. 

SIR  WILLIAM  RANDOLPH  came  purposely  to  London 
to  fetch  me.  He  was  waiting  for  me  at  Charing  Cross. 
Ah,  the  cruel  heart  disease  has  not  stopped  in  its  prog- 
ress! It  has  refined  his  features  still  more  and  made 
his  limbs  thinner.  All  my  self-control  was  necessary  in 
order  that  he  should  not  guess  the  painful  impression 
made  on  me.  He  appeared  very  glad  to  see  me  again, 
and  when  we  shook  hands  a  transmission  of  warm  friend- 
ship took  place.  Sir  William  took  me  at  once  to  the 
Great  Western  Hotel,  the  Terminus  of  Paddington  Sta- 
tion, from  whence  we  started  at  two  o'clock  the  follow- 
ing day  for  Staffordshire.  Simley  Hall  is  near  Wolver- 
hampton,  in  a  zone  of  verdure  in  the  very  heart  of  what 
is  known  as  the  Black  Country,  the  land  of  iron-works 
and  coal-mines.  After  passing  Oxford,  the  mist  be- 
came gradually  thicker,  and  at  Birmingham  it  was  a 
yellow  fog,  into  which  the  tall  furnaces  threw  out 
what  looked  like  will-o'-the-wisps.  In  a  meadow,  with 
wretched  huts  scattered  about,  and  heaps  of  rubbish,  a 
little  boy  was  trying  to  fly  a  kite.  It  floated  about  a 
few  yards  from  the  ground  without  being  able  to  rise. 
It  was  infinitely  pathetic.  Sir  William  had  the  same 
impression,  and  pointed  to  it  with  his  finger. 

"A  symbol  of  us  Englishmen,  is  it  not?"  he  asked, 
51 


52  ON  THE  BRANCH 

with  his  caustic  smile.  "  You  see  it  is  not  easy  to  rise 
in  our  ambient  air." 

"  You  should  cultivate  the  ascensional  force  more, 
and  the  force  of  expansion  less,"  I  replied,  carried  away 
by  my  love  of  teasing. 

"  Well  hit !  "  exclaimed  my  companion  gaily.  "  You 
have  commenced  Franco-English  hostilities,  remember 
that." 

As  we  approached  Wolverhampton  the  atmosphere 
became  clearer  and  lighter.  At  the  station  we  found 
a  victoria,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  fine  horses  which,  with 
a  quick,  rhythmic  step  went  along  a  road  with  hedges 
on  each  side,  and  a  slight  incline,  then  a  long  avenue 
of  beech-trees  until  it  landed  us  in  front  of  the  porch 
of  Simley  Hall.  There  Lady  Randolph,  her  son-in- 
law,  her  daughter,  her  three  grandchildren,  two  fox 
terriers  and  a  collie  gave  me  an  affectionate  welcome 
and,  surrounded  by  these  kind  hosts,  I  sat  down  to  tea, 
which  was  served  in  the  hall.  I  was  treated  at  once  as 
one  of  the  family. 

Simley  is  an  old  English  home,  the  principal  lines  of 
which  are  Gothic,  but  in  which  many  of  the  windows 
have  been  enlarged  in  order  to  have  more  air  and  sun- 
shine. It  is  almost  entirely  covered  with  ivy,  surrounded 
by  magnificent  cedars,  velvety  lawns,  flowers,  and  built 
in  the  midst  of  an  immense  park.  It  is  a  nest  in  which 
the  same  family  has  lived,  continued  and  been  renewed 
for  more  than  two  hundred  years.  And  I  am  invited 
here,  room  has  been  made  for  me,  an  unknown  woman, 
met  at  the  hotel.  I  always  try  now  to  find  out  the 
object  of  Providence.  It  is  far-off,  invisible,  beyond 
us,  perhaps.  In  this  particular  case  I  have  not  even 
a  notion  about  it. 

The  interior  of  Simley  is  both  luxurious  and  simple. 
The  furniture  of  old  mahogany  and  old  oak,  covered 


ENGLAND  53 

with  Utrecht  velvet  or  tapestry,  the  Flemish  pictures, 
the  fine  library,  the  massive  silver,  give  one  the  impres- 
sion of  intense  respectability,  of  security  even.  There 
are  long  corridors,  windows  with  shutters,  deep  recesses, 
delicious  nooks.  Sir  William's  illness  and  the  death  of  the 
eldest  son  throw  a  shadow  of  sadness  over  the  whole 
dwelling.  The  portrait  of  the  latter  is  in  the  father's 
study  and  underneath  it,  hung  horizontally,  is  the  sword 
which  his  hand  will  never  again  draw  from  the  sheath. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  park  is  the  observatory,  where  my 
host  spends  part  of  the  tranquil  nights,  not  only,  I 
am  sure,  to  make  mathematical  calculations,  but  to  med- 
itate as  a  poet  and  philosopher.  I  had  never  imagined 
a  building  so  scientifically  fitted  up.  It  has  a  movable 
roof,  and  the  telescope  is  better  than  the  ordinary  instru- 
ment of  an  amateur.  The  stables  at  Simley  are  lux- 
uriously supplied  with  horses.  Besides  these,  there  are 
the  children's  ponies  and  donkeys.  The  kennel  is  or- 
ganised with  a  care  which  shows  a  thorough  compre- 
hension of  the  canine  race.  In  the  meadows  confining 
the  park,  little  brown  Jersey  cows  graze  all  day,  and  not 
far  away  is  to  be  seen  the  thatched  roof  of  a  very  old 
farm.  The  children  have  shown  me,  in  one  corner  of 
the  park,  the  animal's  cemetery.  There  are  dogs,  cats 
and  birds,  each  one  with  its  tombstone,  on  which  is  its 
name  and  a  few  words  to  its  memory.  Why  should  they 
be  forgotten,  the  creatures  which  have  loved  us,  which 
have  brightened  the  home?  All  these  things  together 
give  the  impression  of  a  simple,  healthy  life,  the  sight 
of  whicli  refreshes  the  eyes  and  heart. 

The  rotate  of  Sir  William's  health  has  necessarily  lim- 
ited the  Simley  hospitality.  To  the  great  regret  of 
my  hosts,  the  Lussons  were  not  able  to  come  to  Eng- 
land this  year.  The  visit  of  Mrs.  Loftus,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  house,  was  arranged  to  be  at  the  same  time 


54  ON  THE  BRANCH 

as  mine.  She  is  a  true  English  beauty,  not  delicate 
and  languid,  but  healthy  and  active.  She  adores  the 
country,  sports  and  animals.  One  feels  in  her,  as  in 
her  father,  a  latent  power,  a  something  which  inspires 
confidence.  Mr.  Loftus  is  the  type  of  the  young  Eng- 
lish squire,  of  good  birth,  fair,  pink  and  substantial, 
a  man  who  at  eighty  years  of  age  will  have  thick  white 
hair,  fine  red  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  who  will  sit  upright 
in  his  saddle  until  his  last  day,  and  only  be  unhorsed 
by  death.  As  to  Claude  Randolph,  he  won  my  heart  at 
once.  I  divined  in  him  a  francophile  mentality.  He 
will  neither  be  a  thinker  nor  a  philosopher,  but  he  will 
have  an  understanding  of  life,  a  gift  which  I  put  above 
all  others.  He  has  a  splendid  physique,  and  he  pos- 
sesses a  fund  of  gaiety  which  makes  him  very  amusing. 
As  a  special  sign,  which  ought  to  be  noted  because  of 
its  increasing  rarity  among  young  Englishmen,  he  does 
not  talk  to  women  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
he  takes  the  trouble  to  open  the  door  for  them.  Men- 
tally I  gave  a  good  mark  to  Lady  Randolph,  for  whether 
a  man  is  well  or  badly  brought  up  depends  on  his 
mother. 

They  are  old-fashioned  at  Simley  Hall,  as  Sir  Wil- 
liam said.  There  are  family  prayers  and  a  chapter 
read  from  the  Bible,  morning  and  evening,  and  my 
host  carves  the  meat  at  table.  I  always  enter  with  great 
ease  into  the  circle  of  English  life,  thanks  to  the  dis- 
cipline and  freedom  to  be  found  there.  At  half  past 
seven  a  neat  housemaid,  with  down-cast  eyes  according 
to  rule,  brings  me  an  early  cup  of  tea.  At  nine  o'clock 
I  sit  down  at  table  with  the  family,  and  a  substantial 
breakfast  is  served,  a  breakfast  consisting  of  eggs,  of 
that  fried  bacon  which  sharpens  the  appetite,  of  fish, 
cold  meats,  tea  and  coffee.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  meal. 
One  opens  one's  letters  and  newspapers,  the  news  is  cir- 


ENGLAND  55 

culated  and  the  programme  of  the  day  arranged.  The 
hosts  then  attend  to  their  own  affairs,  the  guests  go 
into  the  morning  room  or  out  for  a  walk.  I  generally 
go  into  the  park  and  join  the  children  as  their  big 
friend,  and  we  visit  the  animals  together.  A  round 
hut  has  been  assigned  to  me  as  my  study.  It  is  a 
summer-house,  furnished  with  a  table  and  a  round 
bench  which  has  been  supplied  with  a  red  cushion  in  my 
honour.  I  take  my  books  and  papers  there.  The  win- 
dows in  it  look  on  to  the  meadow  with  the  pretty  brown 
cows,  whose  milk  I  drink  copiously.  When  I  leave  the 
door  open,  robins,  blackbirds,  warblers,  tomtits,  wrens 
and  even  partridges  approach  curiously,  put  their  little 
heads  on  one  side  as  though  to  see  me  better,  and  seem 
to  be  saying :  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  talk  to  them  and 
they  all  appear  to  be  sensitive  to  the  endearment  in  the 
tone  of  my  voice.  They  are  helped  to  live  during  the 
winter;  in  the  spring  they  make  their  nests  in  the  hos- 
pitable parks,  and  during  the  summer  they  pay  their 
benefactors  in  bird-money  with  songs  and  melodies.  No 
one  could  imagine  the  inward  joy  which  this  proces- 
sion of  visitors  gives  me.  At  half-past  eleven  a  maid 
arrives  with  a  cup  of  Benger's  Food,  one  of  the  nutri- 
tive preparations  which  are  English  specialties.  Sir 
William  comes  to  see  me  at  about  half-past  twelve. 
We  go  and  take  a  stroll  in  the  kitchen  garden,  in  the 
hot  houses  where  the  grapes,  peaches  and  apricots  are 
ripening.  After  luncheon,  at  half-past  one,  everyone 
goes  to  rest  for  a  short  or  long  time,  according  to  the 
afternoon's  programme.  For  some  there  is  a  drive, 
for  the  others  golf,  tennis,  garden-parties.  Tea  is 
served  at  five  o'clock  in  the  hall  or  else  in  the  garden 
among  the  flowers.  There  are  always  unexpected  guests. 
After  tea,  which  sometimes  lasts  a  long  while,  one  goes 
to  one's  room  and  does  not  come  down  until  the  sec- 


56  ON  THE  BRANCH 

ond  dinner-bell.  In  the  evening  there  are  games  at 
whist,  bridge  and  billiards.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  happy 
day  is  over  for  everyone.  No  one  presses  you  to  do  this 
or  that,  you  are  not  obliged  to  be  entertained,  but  you 
are  surrounded  with  a  tactful  solicitude  that  is  abso- 
lutely delicious.  At  Simley  Hall  I  feel  as  though  I 
am  carried  along  by  waves.  The  best  spare  room  is 
given  to  me,  and  it  has  a  magnificent  view  of  the  park 
and  the  distant  hills.  The  classical  English  four-post 
bed  and  the  old  furniture  give  it  a  severe  look,  singu- 
larly warm  and  comfortable  though.  Sir  William  had 
remembered  hearing  me  say  at  Cannes  that  it  was  my 
lot  to  find  more  or  less  rickety  writing  tables  everywhere 
I  went.  He  had  had  a  large,  firm  one  prepared  for 
me,  and  the  day  of  my  arrival  I  found  on  it  a  bouquet 
of  those  roses  which  are  named  after  my  country.  I 
was  rather  surprised  to  see  here  and  there,  in  the  bed- 
rooms, in  the  library  and  on  the  landings,  Scripture 
texts.  Formerly  in  all  the  English  railway  stations 
there  used  to  be  such  texts,  but  they  are  now  replaced 
by  advertisements  in  many  colours.  Opposite  to  my 
bed  I  have  the  words  "  Walk  while  ye  have  the  light, 
lest  darkness  come  upon  you."  Between  the  two  win- 
dows :  "  Blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen  and  yet 
have  believed."  Above  a  bracket  filled  with  books: 
"To  the  Jews  first."  What  was  it?  The  Divine 
words,  the  good  tidings?  Why,  yes,  Jesus  was  Semitic 
and  He  was  thinking  of  his  brethren.  We  Christians 
always  forget  His  origin,  and  then  when  something  hap- 
pens to  remind  us  of  it  we  are  amazed.  I  smiled  on  see- 
ing all  around  me  these  pieces  of  cardboard  with  Gothic 
letters,  and  now  this  morning  under  the  suggestion 
of  these  words :  "  Walk  while  ye  have  the  light,"  my 
movements  became  almost  rapid.  I  hurried  as  though 
I  really  feared  to  be  overtaken  by  the  darkness.  This 


ENGLAND  57 

trifling  phenomenon  gave  me  food  for  reflection  and 
the  conclusion  of  it  was  that  we  know  nothing  —  noth- 
ing yet. 

Simley  Hatt. 

Ever  since  I  arrived  here,  a  week  ago,  the  summer 
nights,  generally  so  beautiful  in  England,  have  been, 
as  though  on  purpose,  overcast.  Now  that  I  have  a 
good  telescope  at  my  disposal  I  have  no  stars.  Sir 
William  is  as  disappointed  as  I  am.  Between  the  show- 
ers I  have  been  taken  to  the  places  nearby.  They  are 
remarkably  pretty.  England  has,  I  fancy,  the  whole 
scale  of  greens.  In  the  dark  green  of  this  Stafford- 
shire landscape  there  is  a  great  deal  of  yellow.  This 
shade  is  felt  even  in  the  light.  That  is  my  impression 
at  least.  Wolverhampton,  the  little  town  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Simley,  owes  its  growing  prosperity  to 
the  manufacture  of  bicycles.  Within  the  last  forty 
years  it  has  been  almost  entirely  rebuilt  with  those  red 
bricks  which  now  give  to  the  English  panoramas  a 
warmer  and  more  cheerful  aspect.  All  round  the  town 
radiate  the  various  roads,  with  small  houses  and  villas 
gay  with  flowers.  Then  there  are  the  fine  dwellings 
standing  alone,  surrounded  by  parks,  in  which  the  an- 
cient trees  of  old  England  display  their  centenarian 
majesty.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  Simley  Hall 
is  built  is  an  ideal  village,  the  creation  of  Sir  William. 
In  the  centre  is  a  very  ancient  church  with  its  grave-* 
yard,  then  some  new  cottages,  but  with  the  large  roofs 
of  former  days,  windows  with  several  shutters,  lovely 
porches,  cottages,  surrounded  with  gardens  festooned 
with  verdure,  such  as  queens  must  often  envy.  The 
school,  the  post-office,  the  police-station  even,  are  all 
adorned  with  flowers.  The  Club-house,  a  meeting  place 
for  the  farmers  and  workmen  of  the  neighbourhood,  is 


58  ON  THE  BRANCH 

covered  with  creepers.  Sir  William  has  supplied  each 
of  these  habitations  with  everything  that  is  necessary 
for  the  physical  and  moral  health  of  the  individual, 
with  all  that  may  facilitate  cleanliness.  The  children 
looked  to  me  resplendent  with  health.  The  children  in 
England  are  legion.  It  is  absolutely  dreadful  to  think 
that  women  have  given  birth  to  all  these  small  fry. 
They  will  never  own  it,  but  I  am  persuaded  that  here 
they  must  all  have  had  two  of  them  at  a  time.  Along 
all  the  roads,  in  the  ditches  which  edge  the  paths,  one 
meets  clusters  of  baby  children.  And  the  hen  is  never 
with  her  chickens.  The  brother  of  four  years  old 
watches  over  a  smaller  sister,  and  brings  her  back,  safe 
and  sound,  to  the  house.  By  what  miracle  Mother  Na- 
ture alone  knows.  This  responsibility  certainly  helps 
in  the  formation  of  character.  And  it  is  scarcely  cred- 
ible, but  I  have  never  seen  any  ugly  children  in  England. 
Many  of  them  have  the  most  adorable  faces.  If  only 
this  beauty  remained  the  English  race  would  certainly 
be  privileged,  but  it  falls  away  like  a  flower.  Between 
the  age  of  fourteen  and  eighteen  a  cruel  change  takes 
place  with  most  of  the  young  people.  Their  mouths 
alter  in  shape,  their  features  lose  their  purity,  the 
complexion  its  brilliancy.  I  attribute  this  entirely  to 
the  climate.  An  English  doctor  once  said  to  me, 
"  Dampness  spoils  everything."  It  is  so  true  that  peo- 
ple are  even  obliged  to  put  their  pictures  under  glass 
in  this  country.  It  is  impossible  to  protect  individuals 
in  the  same  way  and  with  the  feeble  ones,  with  those 
whose  organism  does  not  offer  sufficient  resistance,  the 
damp  changes  the  tissues,  the  bones,  and,  perhaps,  other 
parts  of  the  body  besides.  Sports  are  certainly  pre- 
scribed by  Nature  in  this  climate.  I  have  been  taken 
to  see  golf,  cricket,  croquet  and  tennis,  and  all  these 
games  are  admirably  organised  and  played.  For  the 


ENGLAND  59 

hundredth  time  I  have  regretted  that  around  our 
provincial  towns  and  our  villages  there  are  not  these 
enclosed  fields  where  young  people  can  train  themselves 
to  physical  effort.  That  will,  however,  all  come  in  the 
appointed  time. 

I  let  myself  be  taken  out,  amused  and  entertained. 
It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  all  a  delightful  dream.  I  am 
always  glad  to  enter  for  a  time  into  the  circle  of  other 
people's  lives,  and  always  glad  to  come  out  of  it  again. 
The  longing  for  freedom,  for  solitude,  comes  to  me 
again,  more  or  less  quickly,  according  to  the  surround- 
ings. I  shall  not  be  in  a  great  hurry,  I  am  sure,  to 
leave  my  present  hosts  and  to  bid  farewell  to  this  beau- 
tiful Simley,  so  warm  with  friendship  and  sympathy. 

Simley  Hall. 

Yesterday  evening  I  did  something  which  the  same 
morning,  an  hour  or  even  a  minute  beforehand,  I  should 
have  thought  impossible.  I  told  Sir  William,  a  for- 
eigner, and  an  Englishman  of  all  men,  the  great  trouble 
of  my  life.  How  it  all  came  about  I  cannot  understand. 
I  have  broken  off  my  friendship  with  people  for  the 
sake  of  concealing  it  better.  I  have  kept  it  a  secret 
for  fifteen  years,  and  now,  suddenly,  without  being  asked 
a  single  question,  without  even  wondering  whether  it  were 
wise  or  foolish,  the  secret  left  my  lips,  and  in  the  most 
natural  way  in  the  world.  I  experienced  a  strange 
pleasure  in  feeling  my  old  self  living  again,  after  be- 
lieving that  I  was  dead  and  buried ;  I  felt  pleasure,  too, 
in  pronouncing  certain  names,  in  seeing  certain  images 
take  form  again.  As  I  continued  my  story  the  picture 
of  the  past  unfurled  itself  under  my  gaze,  the  work 
accomplished  in  my  soul  appeared  to  me  in  luminous 
flashes.  By  whom  was  I  urged  to  speak?  By  that 
irresistible  force,  no  doubt,  which  we  might  call  the 


60  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Being  of  Beings.  It  sometimes  puts  into  our  mouths 
words  which  we  hear  distinctly,  which  we  should  like 
to  take  back,  and  which  will  have  unforeseen  consequen- 
ces. This  phenomenon  of  duality  occurs  at  every  in- 
stant. I  recognise  it  at  once,  now,  but  I  experience  it 
nevertheless. 

Yesterday  evening  the  night  was  as  serene  as  could 
be  desired.  The  stars  seemed  as  numberless  as  the  grains 
of  sand  on  our  beaches.  Consequently,  just  after  ten 
o'clock,  my  host  and  I,  followed  by  the  dog  Freddy, 
set  off  for  the  observatory.  Sir  William  affirms  that 
the  animal  is  interested  in  his  work,  and  that  it  often 
lifts  its  head  towards  the  sky,  as  though  endeavouring 
to  discover  what  its  master  is  looking  for.  I  quite 
think  that  a  fox  terrier  is  capable  of  that. 

The  Simley  observatory  is  a  rotunda,  flanked  by 
two  lower  pavilions,  one  of  which  is  a  study  and  the  other 
a  small  sitting-room,  each  opening  on  to  the  park  with 
French  windows.  In  the  study  the  long  table  strewn 
with  sheets  of  paper  black  with  figures,  the  sidereal 
clock,  the  library  of  astronomical  books,  the  instruments 
used  for  physics,  the  celestial  maps,  all  reveal  laborious 
hours.  The  little  sitting-room  with  its  divan,  covered 
with  Oriental  stuff,  its  large  arm-chairs,  seems  to  be  pre- 
pared for  rest  and  meditation.  As  soon  as  we  had 
arrived,  Sir  William,  impatient  to  show  me  his  planets 
and  stars,  put  his  foot  in  the  loop  of  a  rope,  and  to 
my  great  terror  made  the  roof  turn  round,  climbed  on 
to  the  platform,  adjusted  the  telescope  and  said  simply t 
"  There  it  is ! "  Hitherto  my  Observatory  had  been 
either  the  Place  Vendome  or  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, 
with  their  astronomers  and  optical  instruments  as  poor 
as  each  other.  I  felt  startled  by  the  sight  now  pre- 
sented to  my  view.  I  had  the  sensation  of  immensity, 
of  infinite  number,  of  perfect  harmony,  and  at  the  same 


ENGLAND  61 

time  of  a  silence  and  a  peace  that  were  unearthly.  The 
Twins  fascinated  me  and  in  looking  at  them  a  strange 
joy  came  to  me. 

"  What  an  adorable  creation  these  sister-stars !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Unique !  "  my  host  replied.  "  They  appear  to  be 
quite  near  each  other  and  they  are  separated  by  an 
enormous  distance." 

"  That  does  not  matter,  for  they  must  be  in  constant 
communion,  as  they  have  the  same  light,  and  do  you 
know  I  have  seen  that  same  blue  light,  so  warm  and  soft, 
at  the  bottom  of  a  commutator.  Are  not  the  Twins 
centres  of  electricity  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

I  looked  for  a  long  time  at  the  dazzling  heavens,  and 
all  at  once,  for  the  first  time,  the  consciousness  came  to 
me  that  we  were  part  of  them. 

"  But  our  earth  is  up  there ! "  I  exclaimed,  stupefied. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Sir  William. 

"  And  it  goes  along  in  company  with  all  these  stars ! 
It  mingles  its  little  light  with  theirs,  and  by  means 
of  my  own  feeble  organs  I  can  see  beyond  our  planet 
and  enter  into  contact  with  the  rest  of  the  Universe! 
It  is  wonderful !  " 

With  this  exclamation  I  came  down  from  the  plat- 
form, literally  dazed  by  my  own  grandeur. 

Sir  William,  very  much  amused  at  my  naivete,  took 
me  into  his  little  sitting-room.  I  sank  down  into  an 
arm-chair  in  front  of  the  open  window.  He  sat  down 
facing  me  and  Freddy  at  once  sprang  on  to  his  knees 
and  nestled  down  there. 

"  The  companion  of  my  meditations,"  he  said,  strok- 
ing the  animal.  "  When  I  am  thinking  I  have  got  into 
the  habit  of  twisting  his  ears.  While  under  the  im- 
pression of  anything  painful  or  when  thinking  over 


62  ON  THE  BRANCH 

a  tiresome  question,  it  sometimes  happens  that  I  pinch 
them  cruelly.  He  protests  by  a  cry,  but  never  owes 
me  a  grudge.  Freddy,  too,  is  up  there,  you  know." 

"  Don't  make  fun,"  I  said  gravely.  "  Our  childish 
expressions  here  below,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  setting 
and  rising  of  the  sun  deceive  us  so  much.  Prov- 
idence has,  perhaps,  brought  me  here  to  put  my  vision 
right,  to  give  me  more  exact  notions.  What  good  they 
will  be  I  do  not  know,  but  I  am  sure  that  they  will  not 
be  wasted." 

"  I  do  not  know  anyone  who  has  the  consciousness 
of  immortality  and  growth  as  you  have;  you  con- 
sider yourself  the  instrument  of  Providence." 

"  It  is  in  that  that  my  pride  and  my  hope  rest. 
From  the  moment  that  I  am  part  of  the  integral  work 
of  God  I  cannot  perish." 

"  You  are  logical  —  astonishingly  so,  for  a  woman." 

"  Thank  you.  Twenty  times  a  day  man  proclaims 
his  free  will  and  still  more  often  when  he  is  stopped 
by  things  over  which  he  has  no  power  he  storms  against 
destiny.  Have  you  noticed  that  he  always  attributes 
his  good  fortune  to  his  own  wits  and  his  ill  fortune  to 
fatality?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  so." 

"  Well,  I  attribute  everything  to  Providence.  I  have 
been  led  to  acknowledge  that  Providence  alone,  here 
below,  has  the  guidance." 

"  Belief  in  one's  self.     What  a  force,  though,  that 


is! 


i »» 


"  But  I  believe  in  myself  because  I  believe  in  God  — 
and  I  believe  in  God  because  I  believe  in  myself." 

A  long  sigh  escaped  from  the  breast  of  my  host. 

"  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have  your  faith," 
he  said.  "  It  would  rid  me  of  a  certain  remorse  which 
weighs  terribly  on  my  life.  My  eldest  son  was  very 


ENGLAND  63 

much  in  love  with  a  girl  whom  I  thought  below  him, 
unworthy  of  him.  I  refused  my  consent  to  his  marriage, 
and  he  went  to  India,  and  was  killed  in  an  ambush  very 
soon  after  he  arrived.  Was  it  I  who  sent  him  out  to 
his  death  ?  Was  it  God,  even  ?  " 

"  God,  do  not  doubt  that.  You  could  not  see  what 
awaited  him.  His  premature  end  has,  perhaps,  been  a 
great  mercy." 

"What  has  given  you  such  absolute  faith?" 

"My  own  life." 

"  Your  life?  " 

It  was  only  at  this  moment  that  I  realised  I  was  a 
stranger  to  my  host.  I  could  not  help  the  colour  com- 
ing into  my  face. 

"  It  is  true,  you  do  not  know  anything  about  me, 
and  you  invited  me  to  Simley  Hall  and  have  admitted 
me  into  the  intimacy  of  your  family." 

"  I  know  a  lady  when  I  see  one,"  answered  Sir  Wil- 
liam, smiling. 

I  bowed  my  thanks  and  then  continued: 

"  I  am  surprised  that  you  did  not  feel  distrust  when 
you  saw  me  living  in  hotels  in  my  own  country." 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  but,  now  that  I  know  you  better, 
your  uprootal  makes  me  feel  sorry.  Yesterday  it 
seemed  to  me  that  you  were  looking  regretfully  at  my 
little  cottages.  Am  I  mistaken  ?  " 

"  No,  there  are  times  when  I  have  a  longing  for  a 
home,  but  it  is  only  rarely.  For  a  French  woman  to  be 
uprooted  there  must  have  been  a  terrific  shock.  I  ex- 
perienced this,  and  it  had  been  prepared  for  me  from  a 
long  way  off.  Would  you  believe  that,  at  the  age  of 
fourteen,  I  saw  in  a  dream  M.  de  Myeres,  whom  I  was 
to  marry  eleven  years  later." 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"  It  was  so.     One  night  I  dreamt  that  I  was  in  a 


64  ON  THE  BRANCH 

little  bare,  dark  church,  lighted  by  a  side-door  which 
opened  on  to  the  country.  In  this  doorway,  with  a 
background  of  verdure,  I  suddenly  saw  the  outline  of  a 
tall  man,  whose  features  I  could  not  distinguish.  He 
came  slowly  from  the  doorway,  advanced  straight 
towards  me,  took  my  hand  and  put  a  ring  on  my  finger. 
The  ring  was  too  large,  and  it  fell  from  my  hand  and 
rolled  along  the  flags  slowly,  very  slowly  indeed,  with 
a  metallic  sound.  In  my  efforts  to  get  it  again  I  woke 
up,  my  forehead  bathed  in  the  perspiration  of  night- 
mare. I  told  this  strange  dream  to  my  mother,  and 
she  appeared  to  be  painfully  affected  by  it.  As  to  me 
I  could  never  forget  it.  It  left  in  my  childish  mind 
an  anguish  mingled  with  joy.  Time  only  made  the  im- 
pression more  vivid.  The  man's  outline  instead  of 
fading  away,  became  more  distinct,  more  vivid.  Some- 
times, in  my  girlish  fancies,  I  saw  this  figure  coming 
towards  me,  and  it  made  me  feel  a  delicious  commotion. 
We  have  no  idea  yet  of  the  complexity  of  the  human 
atom,"  I  added,  reflectively. 

"  Of  the  feminine  atom  especially,"  said  Sir  William 
with  a  smile. 

"  During  the  years  which  followed,  this  dream  occu- 
pied my  imagination.  I  gave  various  faces  to  the  man, 
each  one  more  handsome  than  the  last  one.  I  attributed 
to  my  phantom  all  the  gifts  and  all  good  qualities. 
My  coming  out  was  delayed  by  the  death  of  my  grand- 
parents. I  was  twenty  years  old  before  going  to  my 
first  ball.  Oh,  that  first  ball!  It  was  at  the  house  of 
a  lady  in  our  neighbourhood.  Expense  had  not  been 
spared  for  my  dress,  and  I  wore  one  of  those  famous 
girls'  dresses  which  first  made  the  reputation  of  our 
great  dress-maker,  Doucet.  It  was  of  white  tarlatan, 
with  ruches,  and  trimmed  with  wild  flowers.  I  can  see 
it  now,  but  I  cannot  see  myself  at  all.  Our  own  face 


ENGLAND  65 

is  unknown  to  us.  The  reflection  in  the  glass  is  not 
sufficient  for  making  an  impression  on  our  brain-cells, 
it  appears." 

"  That  is  an  observation  I  had  never  made,"  con- 
fessed my  host. 

"  Is  it  not  curious,"  I  continued,  "  to  think  that  the 
brain  goes  on  keeping  indelibly  the  colour  of  some  fur- 
below, the  style  of  a  garment,  whilst  a  crowd  of  other 
souvenirs  disappears?  These  little  things  probably 
form  part  of  a  chain.  Anyhow,  that  particular  evening 
I  was  strangely  happy  in  my  pretty  dress  from  Paris 
and  in  the  joy  of  my  first  social  success.  I  was  talking 
gaily  to  my  host,  quite  unconscious  of  what  was  about 
to  happen,  when  my  eyes  fell  on  a  tall,  dark  man,  with 
a  tawny  moustache,  who  was  coming  towards  us.  The 
words  stopped  on  my  lips,  my  heart  beat  more  quickly 
and  I  had  the  distinct  sensation  that  this  man  was  the 
personage  of  my  dream,  in  flesh  and  blood.  However 
that  may  be,  his  presence  might  well  affect  me,  as  he 
was  my  destiny,  *  the  master  of  the  moment,'  my  future 
husband.  Oh,  don't  you  see  that  life  is  such  a  fas- 
cinating combination,  that  if  we  were  allowed  to  know 
it  still  better  we  should  give  up  eating  and  drinking  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  serious,"  remarked  Sir  William,  in 
a  mocking  tone. 

"  The  stranger,  who  was  one  of  the  guests  of  the 

clidteau,  came  up  to  M.  de  B who  introduced  him. 

'  Monsieur  de  Myeres,  Mademoiselle  Latour.'  These 
two  names,  thus  associated  together,  echoed  within  me 
as  though  they  had  been  pronounced  in  a  very  loud 
voice.  I  can  hear  them  still.  M.  de  Myeres  was  a 
man  of  good  family.  He  was  then  thirty-five  years 
of  age,  and  had  the  voice  and  face  of  a  charmer  of 
women.  You  know  that  mellow  voice,  the  vibrations 
of  which  penetrate  to  the  very  depths  of  one's  being. 


66  ON  THE  BRANCH 

He  had  an  Intelligent  face,  bold,  tender  eyes,  and  a 
sensual  mouth.  That  was  the  type  of  man.  We  began 
to  talk  at  once.  He  asked  me  for  a  waltz,  and,  with- 
out troubling  about  the  fact  that  I  had  promised  my 
mother  only  to  dance  polkas  and  quadrilles,  I  gave  it 
to  him.  He  guided  me  along  through  the  room,  and 
I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  the  intoxication  of  the 
movement,  regulated  by  the  music,  or  the  effect  of  his 
magnetism,  but  for  a  few  moments  I  lost  all  notion 
of  time,  place  and  my  own  personality.  When  he  took 
me  back  to  my  place  I  fancied  that  I  had  just  tasted 
the  bliss  of  the  elect.  M.  de  Myeres  was  married,  but 
separated  from  his  wife  through  serious  incompatibility 
of  character.  He  owned  the  Chateau  of  Chavigny  in 
the  department  of  Cher,  and  spent  some  months  of 
the  year  there.  The  rest  of  the  time  he  lived  in  Paris. 
After  this  first  meeting,  many  circumstances,  independ- 
ent of  our  own  will,  threw  us  together.  For  a  young 
girl  of  my  generation  a  married  man  did  not  exist. 
I  merely  said  to  myself  that  I  would  never  marry  a 
man  unless  he  were  like  M.  de  Myeres.  Every  time 
anyone  was  proposed  to  me,  his  figure  —  that  of  the  man 
of  my  dream,  for  they  were  one  now  —  rose  up  in  my 
mind  and  I  refused  to  hear  of  anyone  else.  One  even- 
ing, at  Trouville,  where  he  was  spending  the  season, 
as  we  were,  I  was  strolling  along  the  beach  with  a  dis- 
tant cousin,  a  friend  of  my  childhood.  For  the  tenth 
time  this  cousin  was  pleading  his  cause,  and  so  ardently 
that  I  nearly  allowed  myself  to  be  touched  by  it. 
It  was  a  little  before  the  dinner  hour,  the  horizon  was 
covered  with  clouds  and  the  sea  looked  gloomy.  Out 
of  this  dark  background  I  saw  M.  de  Myeres  come  forth. 
He  was  leaving  the  Casino  and  walking  slowly,  his  head 
bent  down.  The  sight  of  him  aroused  in  me  a  curious 
pity,  and  to  the  words  of  my  companion  I  replied,  in 


ENGLAND  67 

quite  a  loud  voice,  '  No,  no ! '  I  spoke  with  such  vehe- 
mence that  the  poor  fellow  thought  I  had  a  horror  of 
him.  To  sum  up,  the  following  year  M.  de  Myeres 
was  free  and,  as  soon  as  etiquette  allowed,  he  asked 
for  my  hand.  He  was  wealthy,  his  family  was  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  respected  of  Berry,  he  himself  was 
known  as  a  man  of  honour.  It  was  what  was  called  a 
good  match.  My  mother,  however,  only  gave  her  con- 
sent regretfully.  She  knew  that  M.  de  Myeres  was 
rather  unsteady,  and  that  he  gambled.  She  would  have 
liked  to  keep  from  me  sorrows  such  as  she  had  known, 
but  she  could  not.  I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  ob- 
jections and  even  to  her  prayers." 

I  stopped  abruptly,  and  a  painful  blush  mounted  to 
my  cheeks.  It  was  so  sorrowful,  so  humiliating  all 
that  remained  to  be  told. 

"  And  you  were  not  happy,  of  course  ? "  said  my 
host,  with  a  look  full  of  sympathy.  This  question  pro- 
voked a  nervous  laugh  from  me. 

"  Not  happy,"  I  repeated  with  irony.  "  I  was, 
though,  extremely  so,  on  the  contrary,  happy  as  few 
women  are,  but  my  happiness  was  false.  M.  de  Myeres 
had  the  qualities  which  fascinated  me  the  most,  which 
still  fascinate  me.  He  was  an  aristocrat,  with  perfect 
manners,  brilliant  in  society,  exquisite  in  everyday  life. 
He  had  the  mentality  of  a  writer,  the  temperament  of  a 
gambler,  an  irresistible  mixture  of  forces  and  weak- 
nesses. He  had  only  one  fault,  he  loved  gambling. 
I  can  see  again  in  his  eyes  the  look  which  betrays  that 
kind  of  folly  and  announces  the  return  of  the  attack. 
These  fits  were  rare  with  him,  but  like  my  mother,  I 
soon  learnt  the  effects  of  loss  and  gain.  I  went  through 
the  long  nights  of  waiting  and  of  anguish.  His  return 
though,  the  sound  of  his  footstep,  of  his  voice,  made 
me  forget  instantaneously.  I  have  always  believed  that 


68  ON  THE  BRANCH 

he  possessed  some  special  magnetism,  for  his  presence 
had  such  power.  Then,  too,  he  loved  me,  and  he  told 
me  so  over  and  over  again,  and  in  the  most  charming 
words.  I  felt  a  foolish  pride  when  I  said  to  myself 
that  I  had  been  able  to  retain  the  heart  and  passion 
of  this  man  who  was  reputed  to  be  so  changeable  in 
love  affairs.  After  fourteen  years  of  marriage  my  first 
real  grief  was  +he  change  in  his  health.  Rheumatism, 
from  which  he  suffered  from  time  to  time,  attacked  the 
heart.  He  complained  of  feeling  a  coldness  there  which 
nothing  could  alleviate;  fits  of  suffocation  followed,  and 
each  crisis  meant  that  his  life  was  in  danger.  The  last 
attack  continued  a  week,  during  which  time  I  never  took 
a  minute's  rest.  Finally  he  was  better,  and  at  last  one 
evening  the  doctor  said  that  all  danger  was  over.  In 
spite  of  that  I  would  not  leave  him.  Towards  ten 
o'clock  he  was  resting  peacefully,  and  I  laid  my  head 
on  his  pillow,  put  my  hand  on  his  and,  whilst  listening 
with  delicious  joy  to  his  regular  breathing,  fell  asleep 
soundly  myself.  In  the  morning  I  was  aroused  by  a 
sensation  of  strange,  intense  cold,  that  of  death.  It 
had  really  come  *  like  a  thief  in  the  night,'  and  was 
there,  rigid,  implacable  and  mysterious." 

Freddy  uttered  a  cry.  Under  the  influence  of  the 
emotion  caused  by  my  story,  his  master  had  pinched 
his  ear  nervously. 

"  Leave  Freddy's  ears  alone,"  I  said,  with  surprising 
calmness,  "  or  just  now  you  will  run  the  risk  of  pulling 
them  off.  After  all  I  have  told  you,"  I  continued, 
"  you  will  understand  how  perfectly  united  we  were.  I 
have  always  imagined  that  our  union  dated  much  further 
back  than  my  dream.  The  separation  was  terrible. 
Whilst  I  was  preparing  my  husband  for  the  grave,  and 
moving  his  lifeless  limbs,  I  felt  for  the  first  time,  the 
voluptuousness  of  excessive  suffering.  There  was  a  cer- 


ENGLAND  69 

tain  pleasure  in  feeling  the  warm  tears  flow.  Death 
had  smoothed  away  the  lines  of  care  from  my  husband's 
forehead,  and  given  back  to  his  face  a  serenity  and  a 
youthfulness  that  I  had  never  seen  there.  He  appeared 
to  me  wonderfully  handsome.  From  a  kind  of  jealousy 
I  did  not  want  to  have  anyone  near  him.  His  bed- 
room was  next  to  our  small  drawing-room  and  I  kept 
the  door  open  whilst  doing  all  that  was  necessary.  All 
my  strength  of  character  came  to  my  aid  and  helped 
me  to  be  perfectly  clear-minded.  Towards  five  o'clock 
the  footman  brought  me  three  letters  for  M.  de  Myeres, 
addressed  to  him  at  his  club.  The  groom  had  just 
come  with  them.  I  though  I  recognized  the  hand-writ- 
ing of  the  Baroness  d'Hauterive,  a  first  cousin  of  mine, 
and  a  great  friend  of  my  childhood.  She  lived  at  the 
Chateau  of  Rocheilles,  near  Perigueux.  I  opened  this 
letter  mechanically,  and  read  it  once  and  then  a  second 
time.  Ah,  I  had  difficulty  in  understanding  it.  Do 
you  know  what  it  told  me?  Just  simply  that  this  first 
cousin,  this  friend  of  my  childhood,  was  my  husband's 
mistress." 

Sir  William  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Yes,  she  told  him  of  her  arrival  at  the  Hotel  V 

accompanied  by  little  Guy,  his  god-child,  who  in  reality, 
it  appeared,  was  his  son.  This  revelation  roused  a  sort 
of  whirlwind  in  my  brain.  I  rushed  towards  M.  de 
Myeres,  in  a  transport  of  madness,  and  I  shook  his  dead 
body  exclaiming,  '  You  have  deceived  me,  then ;  you 
have  deceived  me ! '  Letting  the  rigid  corpse  fall  down 
again  I  stepped  back  horrified  at  my  own  sacrilege. 
For  a  few  seconds  I  gazed  at  my  husband  with  that 
curiosity  which  is  always  felt  for  criminals.  He  had 
betrayed  me ;  he  belonged  to  another !  A  wave  of  anger 
went  through  all  my  being,  and  I  made  a  movement 
forward,  feeling  a  desire  to  kill  this  dead  man !  The 


70  ON  THE  BRANCH 

desire  to  kill  a  dead  man,  you  cannot  imagine  what  that 
is  like,"  I  added,  lowering  my  voice.  "  It  is  as  though 
the  stain  of  it  has  remained  ever  since  on  my  soul. 
Before  leaving  M.  de  Myeres  I  bent  down  again  over  him 
quite  close  and  I  said  to  him  between  my  clenched  teeth, 
'  I  will  never,  never  forgive  you,  do  you  understand  ?  ' 
No,  he  did  not  understand;  he  was  beyond  my  reach, 
beyond  my  vengeance  —  above  and  beyond  it.  Was  he 
so  far  away,  though?  As  I  rose  again,  I  saw,  floating 
over  his  lips,  a  life-like  smile  in  which  there  was  deep 
tenderness  and  pity,  that  pity  which  one  has  for  chil- 
dren. There  was  something  extraordinary  in  that  smile, 
the  meaning  of  which  I  have  not  yet  discovered.  It 
acted  on  me  like  Divine  magnetism.  It  tamed  me  calmed 
me.  I  felt  it  follow  me  as  I  went  away.  On  the  thres- 
hold of  the  door  I  turned  round  to  cry  out  again  to 
my  husband,  '  I  will  never  forgive  ' —  and  it  hushed  my 
words,  that  mysterious  smile.  During  all  these  years 
it  has  been  my  drop  of  dew." 

"  What  a  cruel  trial !  "  said  my  host,  with  an  accent 
of  deep  compassion. 

"  Yes,  less  painful,  though,  than  you  imagine.  I 
endeavour  now  to  be  just  to  Providence.  It  handles 
in  an  admirable  way  the  forces  which  we  are.  Great 
sorrows  produce  a  kind  of  numbness.  After  this  fright- 
ful scene  I  went  to  my  own  room,  my  legs  powerless 
from  emotion,  my  limbs  shaking  with  nervous  trembling, 
but  I  did  not  suffer.  I  sat  down  to  my  desk,  and,  find- 
ing in  my  clenched  hand  the  tell-tale  letter,  I  unfolded 
it,  spread  it  out,  passed  my  fingers  over  it  in  order  to 
smooth  out  the  creases,  as  though  it  were  some  precious 
document.  At  that  moment,  the  door  opened  and 
Madame  d'Hauterive,  in  person,  burst  into  my  room. 
It  was  a  curious  thing,  but  the  sight  of  her  did  not 
rouse  my  anger.  It  was,  no  doubt,  exhausted. 


ENGLAND  71 

"  '  Oh,  Antone,  Antone,'  she  said,  stretching  out  her 
hands  to  me,  '  I  have  just  heard 

"  *  That  M.  de  Myeres  is  dead,'  I  interrupted  tran- 
quilly. '  Yes,  he  died  this  morning,  that  is  why  he 
was  not  able  to  go  to  the  Hotel  V .' 

"  Madame  d'Hauterive  stepped  back,  seized  with  wild 
terror.  Her  eyes  fell  upon  her  own  letter,  and  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees,  took  my  hand  in  hers  and 
begged  for  my  forgiveness.  She  talked  for  a  long  time, 
trying,  I  suppose,  to  justify  herself.  I  did  not  listen. 
I  looked  at  her  with  curiosity.  I  could  see  her  again 
as  a  child,  as  a  girl,  as  a  young  wife,  deliciously  pure. 
And  she  had  become  the  mistress  of  my  husband  — 
she,  who  was  almost  my  sister.  My  dear  little  Colette  of 
olden  days.  It  all  seemed  to  me  fantastic.  My  silence 
made  her  think  that  she  had  touched  me,  and  she  begged 
me  to  let  her  see  M.  de  Myeres.  How  dared  she?  The 
audacious  request  made  me  start,  but  did  not  provoke 
any  burst  of  anger.  With  a  calmness  which  astonishes 
me  even  now,  I  told  her  that  if  I  could  have  sent  him 

to  the  Hotel  V I  would  willingly  have  done  so,  but 

that  under  my  roof  she  would  not  see  him.  I  forbade 
her  to  be  present  at  the  funeral,  threatening  her  that  if 
she  should  take  it  into  her  head  to  be  there,  I  should 
disclose  all  to  her  husband,  and  I  then  ordered  her  to 
go  away.  She  rose,  and  I  saw  her  stagger  to  the  door, 
search  for  the  handle  as  though  she  were  blind,  and 
then  disappear.  We  have  never  met  each  other  since 
then.  After  her  departure  I  burnt  her  letter,  lest  I 
should  yield  to  the  temptation  of  sending  it  to  Baron 
d'Hauterive." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  that,"  said  my  host. 

"  I  am,  too,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  glad  to  have  done 
it,  as  it  was  more  prudent,"  I  added,  smiling. 

"  All  this  brought  on  brain  fever,  and  for  three  days 


72  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  struggled  in  wild  delirium.  Would  you  believe  that 
when  M.  de  Myeres  left  the  house  I  knew  it  by  instinct. 
I  sat  up  suddenly  in  bed,  ray  senses  made  singularly 
keener,  and  I  listened.  In  the  corridor,  outside  of 
my  bedroom,  I  heard  muffled  sounds,  low  voices,  then 
the  creaking  of  the  floor,  the  effort  of  the  bearers  — 
I  had  the  sensation  of  the  heaviness  of  the  body.  These 
good  people  tried  to  deaden  the  sound  of  their  footsteps. 
The  precaution  made  me  smile,  for  it  seemed  to  me 
so  unnecessary.  It  was  not  the  man  of  my  dream,  of 
my  life  that  they  were  taking  away,  it  was  Colette  d'Hau- 
terive's  lover,  and  I  was  glad  of  it  —  yes,  glad !  It  is  not 
really  death  which  separates  individuals  most.  To-day 
when  I  can  philosophise  over  human  sentiments,  I  am 
astonished  at  the  strength  of  jealousy  and  the  effects  of 
infidelity.  This  opportune  fever  spared  me  the  difficulty 
of  pretending  to  be  ill  or  so  prostrated  with  grief  as 
to  be  unable  to  accompany  my  husband  to  his  last  rest- 
ing-place in  the  R —  cemetery.  My  sister-in-law  and  my 
brother-in-law  went  in  my  stead.  God,  whom  I  had  im- 
mediately accused  of  cruelty,  had,  on  the  contrary,  shown 
me  infinite  compassion.  For  the  last  two  years  M.  de 
Myeres'  speculations  on  the  Stock  Exchange  had  been 
disastrous.  It  meant  ruin  in  the  near  future.  The 
Chateau  of  Chavigny  was  sold.  The  financial  situation 
was  then  settled  honourably,  and  nothing  remained  for 
me  but  my  private  fortune.  We  had  been  living  in  one 
of  the  prettiest  flats  I  have  ever  known.  It  was  in  a  cor- 
ner house  of  the  Place  Fra^ois  I,  and  was  very  sunny. 
With  wicked  joy  I  at  once  began  to  destroy  this  elegant, 
comfortable  and  hospitable  nest,  in  which  I  had  had  fif- 
teen years  of  false  happiness.  I  sent  everything  to  the 
auction-room,  furniture,  pictures,  relics,  souvenirs.  I 
should  have  liked  to  burn  them  in  a  heap.  What  a  fine 
grief  fire  it  would  have  been!  I  made  my  will  afresh, 


ENGLAND  73 

with  the  sole  object  of  expressing  my  formal  wish  to  be 
cremated.  The  idea  of  being  buried  side  by  side  with 
M.  de  Myeres  was  intolerable  to  me.  I  felt  that  my  body 
would  turn  all  the  time  in  a  tomb  shared  with  him.  I 
was  in  a  wild  hurry  to  be  alone  and  free,  to  escape  from 
my  relatives,  friends  and  acquaintances,  to  cut  away  my 
roots.  I  did  it  brutally,  and  there  were  so  many  —  oh  so 
many!  In  spite  of  my  activity  it  took  a  certain  time. 
The  day  arrived,  finally,  when  I  closed  for  ever  behind  me 
the  door  of  home  and  found  myself  "  on  the  branch." 
I  went  to  stay  at  the  Hotel  de  Castiglione.  The  owner  of 
it  was  an  Italian,  kind  and  sympathetic,  and  he  treated 
me  with  a  consideration  which  made  me  like  his  house.  I 
at  once  began  my  preparation  for  a  journey  to  Cairo,  as 
I  had  resolved  to  commence  my  pilgrimages  with  Egypt. 
And  do  you  know  what  I  did  before  leaving  Paris  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  at  night-fall,  like  a  criminal,  I  went  and  threw 
my  wedding  ring  into  the  Seine." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Sir  William,  with  a  horrified  expres- 
sion. 

"  Yes,  it  was  abominable  I  know,  and  I  feel  remorseful 
about  it.  When  I  cross  the  Concorde  bridge  I  always 
have  a  painful  sensation,  and  in  spite  of  myself  my  eyes 
are  attracted  towards  the  spot  where  the  sacred  or  ac- 
cursed symbol  was  swallowed  up.  Do  you  remember  in 
my  dream  the  stranger's  ring  slipped  from  my  finger  and 
rolled  along  the  flags  of  the  little  Church?  M.  de 
Myeres'  ring  was  not  to  stay  with  me.  Look  "  I  added, 
showing  my  ringless  finger. 

"  Curious  —  very  curious,"  murmured  my  host. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  And  now  that  I  have  told  you  this  ter- 
rible story,  in  order  to  be  just  to  the  gods  I  must  show 
you  what  its  eifect  has  been  on  me.  You  will  see  then, 
certainly,  that  it  was  intended,  written  in  the  book  of 


74  ON  THE  BRANCH 

fate,  necessary.  My  father's  family  for  generations  past 
had  been  unbelievers  and  sceptical.  My  mother's  family, 
on  the  contrary  had  always  had  the  most  ardent  and  ab- 
solute faith." 

"  Those  different  elements  must  have  caused  great 
conflict  in  you." 

"  No,  for  I  had  inherited  solely  the  paternal  men- 
tality." 

"  Ah,  that  was  more  simple." 

"  Yes ;  and  do  you  know  what  was  my  first  question  ? 
I  wanted  to  know  why  God  had  created  wolves  and 
nettles.  The  wolves  which  devour  the  young  lambs  and 
the  nettles  which  stung  my  bare  legs  seemed  to  me  in- 
compatible with  that  Divine  goodness  about  which  I  was 
always  being  told." 

"  It  was  not  easy  to  answer  your  question." 

"  Those  I  asked  got  out  of  it  by  saying  they  had  been 
created  in  order  to  make  children  prudent  and  wise. 
That  did  not  satisfy  me  at  all  and  the  day  when  I  realised 
what  human  misery  was,  I  began  to  say,  '  God  has  not 
a  kind  heart ! '  I  frequently  repeated  the  childish  phrase, 
and  nothing  could  make  me  change  this  sentiment. 
When  I  learnt  that  he  made  orphans,  I  refused  to  pray 
to  him.  My  father  used  to  say,  laughing,  *  Antone  has 
quarrelled  with  God.' ' 

"  You  must  have  been  a  pleasant  child  to  bring  up," 
observed  Sir  William,  smiling. 

"  A  grievous  child  for  a  mother  like  mine,"  I  con- 
fessed, not  without  regret.  "  Poor  Mother !  She  shrank 
from  the  task  of  preparing  me  for  confirmation  and 
placed  me  at  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  in  the 
hope  that  the  atmosphere  there  would  develop  religious 
feeling  in  my  soul.  I  was  there  two  whole  years,  and  I 
should  be  sorry  not  to  have  lived  those  years.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  atmosphere  of  the  convent  began  to 


ENGLAND  75 

act  upon  me.  I  ceased  reasoning  and  arguing.  My  in- 
tellectual and  physical  activity  relaxed.  I  was  seized  with 
a  sort  of  delicious  languor.  Sacred  music,  religious 
ceremonies,  which  had  hitherto  left  me  indifferent,  touched 
me  deeply.  I  was  no  longer  bored  by  the  mass  and  ves- 
pers. The  liturgy  seemed  to  me  magnificent  and  I  de- 
lighted in  repeating  it.  The  words  sounded  grand  to  my 
ear.  Sometimes  I  slipped  away  from  the  noisy  recreation 
and  stole  into  the  quiet  church.  I  stayed  there  without 
praying,  without  thinking  even,  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
gilded  door  of  the  tabernacle,  as  though  hypnotised  by 
a  real  presence,  and  I  had  the  sensation  that  waves  passed 
and  repassed  over  me.  I  am  glad  to  have  known  that 
state  of  mind,  it  has  helped  me  to  understand  the  irresist- 
ible vocations  and  sublime  renunciations  of  others. 
Catholicism  alone  puts  into  action  the  forces  which  allow 
one  to  reach  the  Beyond.  My  first  communion  brought 
this  crisis  of  religious  fervour  to  a  paroxysm.  It  was 
only  a  crisis  as  you  can  imagine.  When  once  I  left  the 
Convent  my  mind  became  troubled  again,  ever  seeking  the 
truth,  unbelieving.  I  took  the  dogma,  point  by  point, 
and  discussed  it  constantly  with  my  mother.  She  clung 
to  the  faith  which  was  her  only  consolation,  and  I  tried  to 
take  it  from  her.  May  she  forgive  me,  for  I  did  not  know 
what  I  was  doing.  Human  suffering,  the  sufferings  of 
animals,  especially,  the  apparent  injustice  of  things,  the 
cruelties  of  the  laws  of  Nature,  the  sight  of  the  cat  tor- 
turing the  mouse,  all  this  was  revolting  to  me.  I  did  not 
believe  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  I  did  not  see  any  hope  of 
mercy  anywhere.  Beside  all  this,  although  I  had  not 
read  Candide  my  dreams  were  of  a  God  whom  I  could 
simply  adore  and  thank,  like  the  one  of  the  beautiful 
country  of  Eldorado.  Unconsciously  I  have  always 
been  looking  for  Him  and  I  have  now  found  Him.  The 
promise  of  the  Gospel  has  been  verified  for  me." 


76  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Tell  me  about  that,"  said  Sir  William,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  keen  interest. 

"  By  leaving  Paris  I  fancied  I  should  more  easily 
forget  M.  de  Myeres.  You  can  imagine  how  possible 
that  was !  During  our  fifteen  years  of  communion  he  had 
left  too  much  of  his  soul  in  me  for  the  impress  of  it  to 
be  effaced  at  will.  I  travelled  in  Egypt,  Italy,  Germany, 
England,  Holland  and  Switzerland.  I  covered  miles 
and  miles  by  railroad,  boat  and  carriage.  I  heaped 
up  impressions  upon  impressions,  images  upon  im- 
ages, without  succeeding  in  forgetting  him.  Often 
when  looking  at  some  celebrated  site,  when  en- 
joying some  fine  view  of  Nature,  some  work  of  art,  three 
little  words  would  come  forth  from  one  of  the  cells  of 
my  brain,  three  adverbs  —  Where  ?  When  ?  How  ?  and 
my  vision  was  at  once  troubled,  and  all  pleasure  de- 
stroyed. Where  had  he  loved  Colette  d'Hauterive? 
When  had  he  betrayed  me?  How  had  she  come  to  give 
herself  to  him?  These  were  the  three  questions  that 
came  to  my  lips,  on  the  Nile  even,  in  the  unique  splendour 
of  its  sunsets,  in  Italy,  in  the  silence  of  its  Coliseum,  in 
Switzerland,  on  the  Alpine  heights.  Where,  when  and 
how?  These  questions  formed  a  triangle  in  my  mind. 
I  knew  too  much  and  too  little.  I  kept  going  back  to 
the  past  to  find  some  indication.  Little  Guy  was  ten 
years  old  and  he  was  the  son  of  M.  de  Myeres.  Before 
and  after  that  time  I  could  find  nothing  suspicious,  unless 
it  were  a  marked  change  in  my  cousin's  character,  in  her 
manner  with  me,  a  change  that  I  had  attributed  to  all 
kinds  of  causes  except  the  right  one.  Then,  too,  she 
knew  how  to  obtain  forgiveness  for  so  many  things.  She 
was  a  brilliant,  impulsive  woman,  instinctively  coquettish, 
but  good  at  heart.  She  had  a  charm  of  manner  and 
conversation  of  which  one  never  wearied.  We  had  sur- 
named  her  '  the  linnet,'  and  we  spoiled  her  as  much  as 


ENGLAND  77 

we  could.  Going  through  her  childhood  and  youth  in 
my  memory,  I  could  not  find  one  single  act  of  disloyalty. 
Her  husband  adored  her  and  she  seemed  to  have  great 
affection  for  him.  They  were  very  happy  and  very 
united  in  their  home.  The  year  after  the  birth  of  Guy 
she  had  desired  to  leave  Paris  definitely  and  had  stayed 
at  '  Les  Rocheilles,'  where  she  had  become  a  lady  bounti- 
ful. Later  on,  Baron  d'Hauterive  and  M.  de  Myeres 
had  a  political  quarrel  which  rather  separated  us,  with- 
out actually  breaking  off  a  friendship  as  old  as  ours. 
During  the  last  years  of  my  husband's  life  he  had  always 
appeared  to  avoid  rather  than  to  seek  the  society  of  my 
cousin.  Their  good  comradeship  of  former  times  had 
changed  into  a  hostility  about  which  I  had  foolishly 
grieved.  The  comedy  had  been  well  played,  so  well  that 
I  had  never  detected  any  sign  of  indifference  on  the  part 
of  my  husband.  My  presence  always  brought  an  ex- 
pression of  pleasure  to  his  face.  Three  weeks  before  his 
death,  as  he  was  going  out  of  my  room,  he  turned  back 
on  the  threshold  of  the  door  and  said,  in  a  tender  tone, 
'  Antone,  I  adore  you ! '  And  he  was  lying  to  me  all  the 
time!  I  do  not  know  which  poet  it  was  who  said: 
'  The  worst  grief  is  not  to  be  able  to  mourn  those  whom 
we  have  lost.'  " 

"  Byron,"  replied  Sir  William  promptly.  "  It  was 
his  mother  that  he  could  not  regret." 

"  He  was  the  only  man  I  had  ever  loved.  I  envied  the 
people  who  had  dead  friends  whom  they  could  mourn. 
One  day  at  Rome,  in  the  cemetery,  I  saw  a  widow  sobbing 
at  the  tomb  of  her  husband.  I  stooped  down  to- 
wards her  and  said  in  a  very  low  voice,  *  How  fortu- 
nate you  are ! '  She  must  have  thought  that  these  were 
the  words  of  a  mad  person.  Rome  —  I  have  not 
suffered  anywhere,  I  think,  as  much  as  there.  I 
often  wondered  why  it  was.  M.  de  My&res  and  I  had 


78  ON  THE  BRANCH 

stayed  there  for  a  few  weeks  during  the  winter  which  pre- 
ceded his  death.  I  was  imprudent  enough  to  return 
eighteen  months  after,  and  I  found  him  there,  just  as 
though  he  had  gone,  too.  I  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Quirinal, 
and  had  a  drawing-room  and  bedroom  with  a  sunny  as- 
pect, looking  over  a  flower-garden.  The  society  there  was 
pleasant,  and  yet  I  was  very  sad,  the  hateful  memory  pur- 
sued me  pitilessly.  As  soon  as  I  was  out  in  the  street  I 
found  myself  engulfed  in  a  strange  atmosphere.  Certain 
spots  were  particularly  trying;  the  banks  of  the  Tiber 
outside  the  Nomentana  Gate,  the  Villa  Medicis,  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Maxence  Circus.  There,  more  than 
anywhere  else,  I  felt  the  presence  of  M.  de  Myeres.  His 
affectionate  words  would  come  back  to  me,  and  every  one 
of  them  caused  me  intense  grief.  I  was  like  a  woman 
whose  wreath  of  roses  had  been  changed  by  some  evil 
spell  into  a  crown  of  thorns.  And  then,  too,  whatever 
I  did,  my  uprootal  was  very  painful  to  me.  Love, 
friendship,  social  relations,  wealth,  everything  had  been 
taken  from  me  at  the  same  time.  This  brutal  dis- 
mantling caused  me  a  sensation  of  nakedness  and  humilia- 
tion. The  most  curious  part  was  that  I  worked  hard  for 
that  end  myself.  Announcements  of  marriages  and 
deaths,  invitations,  letters  from  friends,  I  threw  into  the 
waste-paper  basket,  and  yet  it  took  me  five  years  to  die 
socially.  When  I  received  nothing  more  from  anyone, 
I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  I  was  satisfied,  but  I  was 
not,  by  any  means.  I  was  some  time,  too,  getting  used 
to  my  room  at  the  hotel.  After  the  Chateau  of  Chav- 
igny  and  my  Paris  flat  in  the  Place  Fra^ois  I,  the 
*  traveller's  house  '  as  the  Hindoos  call  hotels,  seemed  to 
me  terribly  cold  and  commonplace.  I  was  always  knock- 
ing myself,  mentally  and  physically,  against  the  walls, 
which  were  too  near  together.  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  that  I 
gnawed  my  bit !  " 


ENGLAND  79 

"  Did  not  your  cousin  ever  make  any  attempt  to  see 
you  again  ?  "  asked  Sir  William. 

"  Yes,  she  wrote  to  me  more  than  ten  times  —  I  burnt 
all  her  letters  without  reading  them.'1 

"  That  was  bad.  There  were  perhaps  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances for  her  sin." 

"  They  could  not  have  prevented  little  Guy  from  being 
the  son  of  M.  de  Myeres.  I  did  not  want  to  hear  them, 
for  I  did  not  want  to  hate  less.  I  was  wrong,  I  know,  and 
I  certainly  increased  my  grief  myself  as  though  for  the 
very  pleasure  of  it.  All  that,  you  see,  had  no  other  ob- 
ject than  to  help  me  to  come  out  of  myself,  and  I  came 
out,  for  I  can  assure  you  that  it  was  neither  good  nor 
beautiful  within  my  soul.  My  reading  had  been  light 
and  frivolous  rather  than  anything  else,  but  I  had  had 
the  foundation  of  a  good  education,  and  this  enabled  me 
to  enjoy  and  understand  serious  things.  I  grew  passion- 
ately fond  of  history  and  followed  with  growing  interest 
the  work  of  science.  I  could  only  follow  at  a  distance, 
and  at  a  great  distance,  but  still  I  was  near  enough  to 
be  conscious  of  the  present  evolution.  I  very  quickly 
understood  that  it  was  God  who  made  history,  and  not 
man.  The  discovery  of  the  infinitely  small  things  and 
that  of  electricity,  which  is  so  infinitely  great,  gave  me 
the  conviction  that  we  could  only  be  simple  factors  in  the 
universe.  For  weeks  I  amused  myself  with  counting, 
among  my  everyday  acts  those  which  seemed  to  depend 
on  my  own  will.  Very  often  there  was  not  a  single  one. 
I  would  then  count  those  over  which  I  had  no  power,  and 
these  were  always  the  most  numerous.  Try  this  little 
exercise,  it  will  teach  you  more  than  all  the  books  of  phi- 
losophy." 

"  I  will  try  it,"  answered  my  companion  gravely. 

"  Until  then  I  had  only  looked  at  the  surface  of  life. 
I  now  began  to  study  its  texture  and  what  there  was  un- 


80  ON  THE  BRANCH 

derneath  it.  I  strove  to  follow  a  word  along  its  path, 
to  search  for  the  threads,  of  which  a  marriage  or  a  birth 
is  composed.  I  was  struck  with  the  mathematical  clear- 
ness of  coincidences.  I  noticed  that  the  orders  from  the 
Invisible  come  to  us  sometimes  direct,  sometimes  through 
a  number  of  our  fellow-creatures.  This  transmission  of 
the  Divine  will  is  extraordinarily  interesting.  For  in- 
stance, how  did  the  idea  come  to  you  to  invite  me  to  Sim- 
ley?" 

Sir  William  reflected  for  a  few  seconds. 
•  "  I  do  not  know,"  he  replied.  "  It  came  to  me  in  a 
vague  way  after  our  first  conversations,  and  then,  one 
evening,  as  we  were  strolling  along  under  the  verandah 
I  thought  that  it  would  interest  you  to  see  the  sky  nearer 
with  a  good  telescope." 

"  Well,  in  my  opinion,  you  simply  obeyed  the  sugges- 
tion of  Providence.  That  does  not  lessen  my  gratitude 
in  the  least.  Oh,  Providence  recompenses  me  from  time 
to  time." 

"  On  that  score  I,  too,  have  been  recompensed,"  said 
my  host  pleasantly. 

"  We  both  have,"  I  added,  smiling.  "  You  see  I  have 
trained  myself  to  say :  '  God  wishes  it,  God  wills  it,'  in- 
stead of  '  I  wish  it,  I  wanted  it.'  Ah,  that  was  not  ea&y. 
But  what  glorious  pride  I  now  have  in  feeling  that  I  am 
working  with  Him,  that  from  morning  to  night  I  .go 
along  transmitting  His  orders,  that  I  am  necessary  to 
Him.  I  had  no  idea  of  my  own  powers  of  radiation. 
Just  think  of  it,  not  a  word  useless ! " 

Sir  William  began  to  laugh. 

"That's  it,  now  we  have  woman  justified!  My  com- 
pliments, Madame  de  Myeres." 

"  Make  fun  if  you  like,  but  words  and  gestures  will 
have  their  effect  for  a  long  time.  Long  after  our 
death  they  will  continue  our  action  in  this  world.  The 


ENGLAND  81 

day  when  I  realised  these  things  I  had  the  same  surprise 
as  just  now  on  discovering  that  I  was  up  there,  and  I 
exclaimed,  '  But  I  am  already  in  eternal  life  —  we  all 
are.'  " 

My  host  started. 

"  What  an  idea !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  And  do  you  know  what  I  imagined  ?  " 

"  After  that,  I  scarcely  see  what  there  was  left  for  you 
to  imagine,"  said  Sir  William  in  a  caustic  tone. 

"  That  God  did  not  create  pain,  that  He  could  not  even 
prevent  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  the  result  of  the 
forces  put  into  motion.  As  to  injustice  it  can  only  be 
apparent.  It  could  not  exist  without  destroying  the  laws 
of  equilibrium." 

"  There,  as  a  mathematician,  I  am  of  your  opinion." 

"  From  the  point  which  I  have  now  reached,  through 
much  difficulty  and  suffering,  the  treason  of  M.  de 
Myeres  has  lost  its  importance  in  a  strange  way.  I 
know,  too,  of  course,  that  man  was  created  a  polyg- 
amist." 

Sir  William's  face  lighted  up  with  mischief  and  gaiety. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  you  admit  that.  Come  I  shall  begin  to 
think  you  are  serious." 

"  Perfectly  serious.  It  is  only  with  the  object  of  lim- 
iting the  creation  of  the  westerner  that  Nature  has  given 
to  him  the  counter-law  of  monogamy.  The  general  law 
must  be  stronger  than  the  partial  one,  and  through  this 
there  are  painful  transgressions.  When  they  occur, 
they  too  are  necessary." 

"  Well,  then,  you  will  have  to  forgive  your  cousin  and 
your  husband." 

"  I  forgave  them  a  long  time  ago." 

"  And  you  have  given  up  the  idea  of  being  cremated, 
I  suppose,"  asked  Sir  William,  to  see  how  far  I  would  go. 

My  heart  thrilled  suddenly,  and  I  answered  — 


82  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  I  forgive,  I  excuse  and  understand,  but  I  cannot  for- 
get. The  thought  of  M.  de  Myeres  is  always  painful  to 
me.  I  shall  go  back  to  my  parents  as  divorced  women 
do.  I  do  not  want  to  be  cremated  now." 

"Ah,  why  not?" 

"  I  happened  to  pay  a  visit  to  one  of  our  writers  some 
time  before  his  death.  He  was  very  stout.  With  his 
elbows  spread  out,  his  wide  head  quite  near  to  his  paper, 
he  gave  one  the  idea  of  a  ruminating,  intellectual  being, 
and  was  rather  imposing.  On  reading  that  he  had  been 
cremated  I  instantly  saw  a  handful  of  ashes  on  his  writ- 
ing-table. He  has  always  remained  that  for  me. 
Frankly  speaking,  the  idea  of  such  a  transformation  of 
the  human  being  is  rather  painful.  Underground  one 
can  think  that  there  is  still  someone  there.  It  is  true  that 
I  shall  not  leave  anyone  to  whom  my  little  heap  of  dust 
could  be  painful." 

"  You  do  not  know  that." 

"  It  is  probable.  And  now,"  I  asked,  "  does  it  not 
seem  to  you  that  I  have  merely  lived  my  life,  and  not 
made  it  myself?  " 

"  One  would  certainly  say  so." 

"  It  was  ordained  like  this.  But  all  through  my 
destiny  I  can  distinguish  a  foreseeing  Power.  My 
shoulders  had  been  prepared  for  the  burden.  A  certain 
physical  and  moral  robustness  helped  me  to  react.  And 
the  most  marvellous  thing  still  is  this  intellectual  work 
which  has  been  given  to  me,  these  brain  cells  which  have 
been  put  into  activity  at  the  age  of  fifty,  thus  giving  to 
my  old  age  the  divine  joy  of  creation,  a  compensation, 
perhaps,  for  the  sterility  of  my  earlier  life." 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  absolutely  extraordi- 
nary." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  quarrel  any  more  with  God,  I  can  as- 
sure you,  we  are  even  on  the  best  of  terms.  Although 


ENGLAND  83 

I  do  not  live  in  Eldorado,  far  from  it,  indeed,  I  never 
ask  Him  for  anything;  I  simply  adore  Him  and  thank 
Him."  I  then  added,  looking  up  at  the  sky  as  I  rose, 
"  This  is  one  of  the  dramas  of  up  there,  for  it  is  up  there 
that  all  this  has  happened." 

"  A  moment  ago,"  said  Sir  William,  "  you  said  that 
not  one  of  your  words  would  be  lost.  I  do  not  know 
anything  about  that ;  but  I  can  assure  you  that  not  one 
of  those  of  this  evening  will  be  lost  for  me." 

"  Well,  that  gives  me  great  pleasure." 

"  I  have  never  had  the  opportunity  of  talking  seri- 
ously with  a  Frenchwoman.  Providence,  as  you  insist 
on  that,  has  sent  me  one  who  is  worth  ten,"  remarked 
Sir  William  with  a  jesting  smile. 

"  One  who  has  lived  for  ten  anyhow,"  I  replied. 

With  these  words  we  left  the  observatory  and  walked 
slowly  and  silently  back  through  the  Park.  In  face 
of  grief  an  Englishman  rarely  finds  words.  He  shows 
his  sympathy  by  his  attitude,  his  way  of  listening,  an 
increase  of  respect  and  of  attentions.  In  the  very  way 
in  which  my  host  opened  the  doors  for  me,  there  was  a 
more  marked  shade  of  respect,  and  in  the  hearty  hand- 
shake I  felt  an  infinity  of  things  that  were  very  sweet 
and,  I  may  as  well  confess  it,  very  agreeable  to  me. 

I  was  not  only  able  to  tell  this  painful  episode  of  my 
life  then,  but  to  repeat  it  here.  There  is  truly  no  more 
hatred  and  no  more  anger  in  my  heart;  only  a  sense  of 
humiliation  remains.  Little  Guy  was  destined  to  be 
born,  to  bring  certain  forces  into  life.  I  know  that. 
He  was  destined  to  be  born,  but  of  another  woman. 
Why  was  that?  This  idea  still  brings  a  blush  to  my 
face,  although  I  am  an  old  woman.  It  wounds  me  to 
the  very  depths  of  my  being.  I  would  never  have 
owned  that  to  an  Englishman.  Would  he  even  have 
understood  it?  This  past  which  has  so  unexpectedly 


8*  ON  THE  BRANCH 

been  stirred  up  again  still  affects  me.  Is  it  a  sign  that 
all  is  not  yet  finished?  My  cousin  and  the  son  of  M.  de 
Myeres  are  still  in  this  world.  The  elements  for  an 
epilogue  are  there  certainly.  Jean  Noel  would  not  re- 
sist the  pleasure  of  writing  it,  but  may  Providence  not  be 
tempted  to  make  me  live  it! 

Smiley  Hall. 

In  every  English  house  there  is  the  nursery,  just  as 
with  the  bees  there  is  the  place  where  the  young  ones 
are  reared.  The  nursery  may  be  more  or  less  large,  more 
or  less  comfortable,  but  it  exists ;  it  is  one  of  the  charac- 
teristics even  of  the  nation.  When  I  pay  a  visit  to  a 
family  where  there  are  young  children  I  try  to  get  into 
the  good  graces  of  the  rearer  in  order  to  have  access  there. 
The  Simley  nurseries  are  delightful.  Several  genera- 
tions have  succeeded  each  other  in  them,  and  they  have 
been  modernised  by  degrees.  Mrs.  Loftus  and  her  two 
brothers  were  brought  up  in  them.  Her  three  children, 
Frank,  seven  years  old,  Lily,  six,  and  William,  two,  in- 
habit them  at  present.  They  are  situated  in  the  corner 
of  the  right  wing,  and  are  composed  of  several  rooms, 
a  bath  room,  and  a  tiny  kitchen  with  tiled  walls  adjoin- 
ing, where  the  various  milk  foods  and  dainty  dishes  are 
prepared.  One  of  the  rooms  is  occupied  by  the  head 
nurse,  and  the  other  by  the  brother  and  sister.  A  pretty 
screen  separates  their  two  beds,  and  in  this  human  nest 
there  is  the  brightest  freshness  and  cleanliness  imagi- 
nable. The  papers  are  light  and  are  framed  with  old 
mouldings.  Everything  in  the  room  is  made  of  simple 
things,  muslin,  cretonne  and  white  wood.  There  is  a 
portrait  of  the  grandmother,  whose  smile  follows  one 
everywhere;  then  there  are  photographs  of  the  parents 
and  of  favourite  animals.  Beautiful  lithographs  add 
to  the  animation  and  gaiety.  A  picture  of  Christ, 


ENGLAND  85 

with  the  words  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  Me  " 
in  Gothic  letters  at  the  foot,  brings  a  ray  of  sentiment 
and  of  elevated  thought  into  the  room.  The  day  nurs- 
ery is  my  delight.  It  is  a  long  room  with  beams, 
lighted  by  two  wide  windows  and  furnished  with  a  mas- 
sive table  with  rounded  ends,  an  old  piano,  a  red  leather 
sofa,  a  cupboard  with  glass  doors,  chairs  of  all  sizes  and 
a  small  rocking  chair.  It  is  full  of  old,  primitive  things 
and  simple  toys.  One  feels  that  one  is  among  real  chil- 
dren, and  that  is  delightful.  The  other  day,  seated  in 
one  of  the  visitors'  armchairs,  I  looked  around  and  began 
mentally  to  admire  the  instinct  or  the  science  of  parents 
who  place  the  newcomers  under  the  suggestion  of  ob- 
jects likely  to  supply  their  brains  with  the  best  germs. 
Those  flowers  that  I  saw  on  the  mantelshelf,  those  pic- 
tures of  animals  fastened  up  here  and  there,  give  to  the 
children  the  love  of  Nature.  And  those  engravings, 
illustrating  the  discoveries  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  teach 
them  the  necessity  of  effort.  The  portraits  of  the 
King  and  Queen  are  destined  to  create  loyalty  in  them. 
And  that  map  of  the  British  empire,  surmounted  by  the 
Union  Jack,  awakens  in  their  hearts  love  and  pride  of 
their  country.  There  is  a  touching  scene  of  a  rescue  at 
sea  which  communicates  to  them  a  desire  for  heroism 
which,  later  on,  may  result  in  some  valiant  deed.  The 
remembrance  of  that  scroll  over  the  mantelshelf,  on  which 
the  Gospel  precept  flames  out  in  red  letters :  "  Do  unto 
others  what  ye  would  that  they  should  do  unto 
you."  This  will  serve  later  on  to  check  the  tongue  or 
the  hand  inclined  to  some  injustice.  Mrs.  Loftus  nursed 
her  three  children  herself;  the  nurse  has  weaned  them 
and  brought  them  up  with  remarkable  intelligence.  Her 
firmness  gives  her  a  hard  look,  under  which  one  divines  a 
motherly  and  tender  heart.  Beside  this,  there  is  a  certain 
poetic  vein  in  her  which  must  have  come  to  her  from 


86  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Ireland.  She  feels  Nature  and  has  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  tales,  legends  and  pretty  verses  with  which  she 
regales  the  children  in  the  winter,  by  the  fire  and  during 
the  long  twilights.  Her  disposition,  which  softens  the 
atmosphere  around  her,  does  not  prevent  her  from  main- 
taining strict  discipline  in  the  nursery.  The  other  day, 
on  entering,  I  noticed  Master  Frank  seated  in  a  mel- 
ancholy way  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  without  any  play- 
things, his  hands  resting  on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"  What  is  he  doing  there  ?  "  I  asked  at  once. 

"  What  is  he  doing,  madame,"  repeated  Sarah,  as- 
tonished at  my  question.  "  He  is  learning  to  keep  still. 
Ten  minutes  in  the  morning  and  ten  minutes  in  the  after- 
noon ;  that  rests  him  and  me  too." 

Learning  to  keep  still!  How  evident  it  is  that  we 
were  never  taught  that.  I  have  had  more  than  one  op- 
portunity of  admiring  the  prompt  obedience  that  this 
simple  woman  obtains  from  her  little  ones.  Yesterday 
morning  she  was  bathing  Lily.  The  baby,  still  in  his 
cot,  was  awaiting  his  turn,  not  without  impatience,  for 
he  kept  getting  up  every  minute  to  see  how  far  ad- 
vanced the  operation  was.  Sarah  noticed  it,  and  called 
out  in  an  imperative  tone  — 

"  Lie  down,  sir." 

At  this  command  the  child  lay  down  on  his  back,  with 
such  a  rapid,  precise  movement  that  it  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  drill.  It  was  irresistibly  droll. 

"  What  a  good  general  you  would  make,  Sarah ! "  I 
said. 

"  Thank  you,  madame,"  she  answered,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  pleasure. 

Frank  and  Lily,  it  appears,  had  been  very  much 
afraid  of  the  French  lady,  whose  arrival  had  been  an- 
nounced to  them.  Heaven  knows  what  image  of  her 
had  been  formed  in  their  brains.  When  I  arrived  they 


ENGLAND  87 

held  out  their  little  hands  to  me  with  visible  distrust. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  words  which  at  once  put 
them  at  ease.  From  the  very  next  day  they  showed  me 
their  treasures  in  the  way  of  toys  and  picture-books,  in- 
troduced to  me  their  fox  terrier,  Kim,  the  cat,  Rose,  two 
habitual  guests  of  the  nursery,  Tit  and  Bit,  their  ponies, 
Dodo  the  baby's  donkey.  They  are  charming  to  look  at, 
in  their  simple,  convenient  clothes,  their  bare  legs  and 
feet  covered,  according  to  the  precepts  of  Kneipp,  with 
leathern  sandals,  which  are  very  much  in  vogue  at  pres- 
ent. Their  features  give  promise  of  beauty.  Lily  has 
large  blue  eyes  and  hair  the  colour  of  ripe  chestnuts. 
The  shape  of  little  Frank's  head  is  remarkably  good, 
and  always  excites  my  admiration.  At  times  he  presses 
his  lips  together  with  an  expression  which  suddenly 
hardens  his  babyish  expression,  and  which  may  be  the 
sign  of  a  strong  will.  Once  or  twice  I  have  seen  in 
him  that  repugnance  to  confess  himself  beaten  which 
is  a  characteristic  of  his  race.  Once,  when  out  walking, 
we  came  to  one  of  those  barriers  called  stiles. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  jump  it?"  he  asked  his 
mother. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  but  you  would  run  the  risk  of 
hurting  yourself,  and  badly  enough  to  be  obliged  to  send 
for  the  doctor." 

The  child  looked  as  though  he  were  measuring  the 
height  of  the  obstacle.  The  struggle  going  on  in  his 
mind  made  the  blood  come  and  go  under  his  delicate 
skin. 

"  I  think  I  will  jump  it,"  he  declared  at  last. 

"  You  are  free  to  do  as  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Loftus. 

He  quickly  took  off  his  sandals,  climbed  up  the  three 
bars  of  the  stile,  balanced  himself  for  an  instant  on  the 
top,  and  then  dropped  down  on  the  other  side  on  his 
feet. 


88  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  I  have  not  hurt  myself,"  he  cried,  with  an  accent  of 
triumph. 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  love,"  replied  his  mother 
tranquilly. 

We  glanced  at  each  other.  She  was  glad  that  the 
young  urchin  had  risked  the  jump,  and  so  was  I.  I  am 
always  charmed  to  see  the  important  place  that  flowers 
and  animals  have  in  the  life  of  English  children.  Lily 
and  Frank  often  come  back  from  their  walks  with 
branches  of  green  for  decorating  their  nursery.  They 
know  the  names  of  all  the  birds  which  frequent  the  lawn, 
and  are  interested  about  the  nests.  Sarah  told  me  that 
in  the  spring  she  noticed  that  the  cushions  belonging  to 
the  chairs  of  the  brother  and  sister  had  suddenly  be- 
come singularly  flat.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  she  shook 
them  and  put  them  out  in  the  sunshine,  for  they  were 
smaller  every  day.  She  finally  suspected  the  under 
nurse  of  stuffing  her  own  bed  at  the  expense  of  these 
pillows,  but  one  fine  morning,  through  the  open  door, 
she  saw  Lily  and  her  brother  busy  pulling,  out  of  the 
inside  slips,  pinches  of  horsehair,  which  they  were  throw- 
ing through  the  window. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  We  are  giving  the  birds  some  horsehair  for  their 
nests,"  answered  the  little  girl,  with  the  most  adorable 
serenity. 

The  nurse,  quite  disarmed,  only  told  them  that  they 
must  not  give  away  things  belonging  to  their  parents 
without  asking  permission.  It  certainly  was  a  pretty 
idea. 

I  often  dress  early  for  dinner  so  that  I  may  be  present 
when  the  children  are  put  to  bed.  It  is  the  sweetest 
little  picture.  All  is  done  with  a  decency  which  delights 
me.  Childhood  is  respected  here,  and  not  made  unpoeti- 


ENGLAND  89 

cal.  The  day  before  yesterday,  Lily,  in  her  night-dress, 
said  to  me  in  a  reproachful  tone  — 

"  Madame  de  Myeres,  you  don't  notice  how  I  fold 
my  clothes." 

I  at  once  went  up  to  the  chair  upon  which  she  spreads 
her  clothes  every  evening  and  complimented  her.  Her 
pretty  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  One  evening,  whilst 
undressing,  she  asked  me  suddenly,  stretching  out  her 
round,  white  arms  — 

"  Do  you  like  my  arms  ?  " 

"  Very  much,"  I  replied  seriously. 

"  And  my  hair  ?  "  she  asked,  presenting  to  me  the 
golden  ends  of  her  plait. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  my  foot  ?  "  she  added. 

"  Yes,  that  too,"  and  I  squeezed  the  plump  little 
foot  she  held  out  to  me. 

She  went  through  everything  —  her  eyes,  nose,  mouth, 
teeth,  and  finally  I  told  her  that  I  liked  good  little  girls 
altogether,  but  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  English 
expression  "  Do  you  like? "  which  really  means  "  Do 
you  think  it  pretty  ?  " 

The  evening  prayer  always  touches  me  very  much. 
It  consists  of  the  following  words,  which  the  child,  with 
clasped  hands,  repeats,  keeping  its  eyes  fixed  on  the 
nurse's  lips :  "  Pray  God  bless  my  dear  papa  and 
mamma,  my  brother  and  sister,  all  my  relations  and 
friends,  and  make  me  a  good  child,  for  Jesus  Christ's 
sake,  Amen."  The  two  elder  children  add  the  Lord's 
prayer  and  a  very  simple  hymn.  Sarah  reads  them  a 
verse  from  the  Old  or  New  Testament  and  so  the  day 
finishes  in  the  Simley  Hall  "  nest." 

When  the  children  heard  that  the  day  of  my  departure 
was  very  near,  it  occurred  to  Frank  and  Lily  to  invite 


90  ON  THE  BRANCH 

me  to  tea  in  their  nursery.  I  would  not,  upon  any  ac- 
count, have  refused  this  invitation  written  in  big  letters, 
so  touching  by  the  effort  that  it  represented.  At  four 
o'clock  precisely  I  arrived  in  their  domain,  and  found 
there  a  charming  girl  who  lives  near.  She  is  a  great 
friend  of  theirs,  and  they  had  asked  her  to  help  them 
to  entertain  me.  The  dear  children,  what  joy  there  was 
when  they  saw  me  appear!  They  had  gathered  the 
wild  flowers  which  decorated  the  table,  ordered  from  the 
cook  hot  cakes  such  as  she  makes  for  grown-up  people, 
and  superintended  all  the  arrangements.  They  seemed 
very  proud  of  their  work,  and  my  surprise  and  compli- 
ments brought  a  bright  look  of  pleasure  on  to  their 
sweet  faces.  Their  friend,  Miss  Mills,  poured  tea,  and 
Sarah  passed  the  cups,  whilst  they  did  the  honours  of 
the  dainties  with  a  perfect  self-forgetfulness.  The  pic- 
ture of  our  table  was  droll  and  not  at  all  commonplace. 
At  one  end  of  it  an  old  woman,  at  the  other  end  a  young 
girl  dressed  in  white  serge,  to  the  right  a  charming 
baby-child,  a  doll,  a  little  girl  of  six  years  old;  to  the 
left  a  little  fellow  in  sailor  costume,  and  then  the  fox 
terrier  Kim,  and  Rosy,  the  cat,  both  on  tall  chairs. 
Frank,  feeling  most  hospitable,  expressed  his  regret  at 
not  being  able  to  make  toast  for  me  at  the  nursery 
fire  as  they  do  in  winter.  His  sister  asked  me  to  come 
again  at  Christmas,  which  was  the  most  beautiful  time  of 
the  year.  The  remembrance  of  the  last  Christmas  fes- 
tivities still  delights  them.  The  little  boy  showed  me 
the  lion  fastened  on  to  the  wall.  It  was  the  Christmas 
present  of  their  Illustrated  Paper.  He  told  me  all  the 
lion's  misdeeds.  In  his  imagination  the  wild  beast  had 
devoured  more  than  a  thousand  lambs,  and  when  he  was 
grown  up  it  was  his  intention  to  go  and  kill  it.  Lily 
told  me  about  the  vaccination  of  her  daughter  Fanny. 
With  an  expression  of  maternal  pride  she  told  us  that 


ENGLAND  91 

her  child  had  been  very  brave  and  had  not  cried.  Whilst 
hearing  all  this  a  curious  thing  took  place.  I  forgot 
reality  and  my  age.  I  had  a  sensation  of  a  fresh  life, 
of  light  atmosphere;  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  com- 
mencing and  this  was  delicious.  The  entrance  of  Sir 
William  put  an  end  to  the  illusion.  He  stopped  an  in- 
stant on  the  threshold  of  the  door. 

"  Ah,  Madame  de  Myeres,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
quivering  of  the  nostrils  from  emotion,  "  this  is  what  I 
call  the  essence  of  goodness." 

"  Don't  say  any  more,"  I  answered,  smiling,  "  I  am 
taking  a  bath  of  childhood.  That  could  only  happen 
here." 

Frank  and  Lily  hurried  towards  their  grandfather, 
installed  him  in  his  arm-chair,  and  gave  him  some  tea. 

"  What  a  number  of  things  these  children  will  know !  " 
he  said,  with  an  accent  of  regret. 

"Will  they  be  happier?" 

"  Will  they  not  be  better  armed  ?  Does  not  progress 
consist  in  furnishing  the  elements  for  life?  " 

"  Furnishing  the  elements  for  life ! "  I  repeated. 
"  Yes,  that  is  the  care  of  you  Englishmen.  We,  on  the 
other  hand,  without  intending  it,  we  furnish  the  elements 
for  death.  I  do  not  think  I  am  mistaken  in  saying  that 
a  great  part  of  the  physical  and  moral  force  of  your 
country  is  acquired  in  the  nursery." 

"  That  is  my  opinion." 

"  In  France  we  have  no  nursery." 

"Why  do  you  not  have  it?     I  have  often  wondered." 

"  Because  we  generally  live  in  flats,"  I  replied,  "  on 
shelves  that  are  very  uncomfortable  and  insufficient." 

"  But  in  the  provinces  you  have  beautiful  roomy 
houses  where  you  could  install  nurseries,  studies,  bath- 
room, a  gymnasium,  and  everything  that  is  necessary 
for  the  development  of  the  individual." 


92  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  In  the  provinces,  alas,  the  minds  and  the  furniture 
are  always  under  dust-covers.  People  deliberately  close 
their  ears  in  order  not  to  hear  scientific  men,  lest  these 
should  destroy  ancient  prejudices.  They  close  their 
shutters  so  that  the  sun  may  not  fade  their  curtains. 
In  the  provinces  people  respect  their  prejudices  and  cur- 
tains. The  basis  of  our  economy  is  avarice;  the  basis 
of  our  paternal  and  maternal  love  is  egotism.  We  love 
our  family,  our  children;  we  do  not  love  the  species. 
These  are  the  real  causes  of  the  depopulation  which 
alarms  and  humiliates  us.  If  Providence  wished  it,  these 
would  disappear,  and  Providence  will  wish  it  some  day, 
you  may  be  sure." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  so,"  said  Sir  William. 

After  thanking  the  children  heartily,  I  left  the  nursery 
with  my  host,  and  we  took  a  few  turns  in  the  park. 

"  If  you  had  had  ten  children,  Madame  de  Myeres," 
he  said,  "  you  could  not  understand  them  better." 

"  I  should  understand  them  less,"  I  replied.  "  A 
mother  loves  her  children  blindly,  she  does  not  know 
them.  She  cannot  detach  herself  from  them  enough 
to  study  them.  This  study  would  even  seem  impious 
to  her,  I  fancy.  I  will  confess,  not  without  shame,  that 
I  have  never  cared  for  children.  I  had,  during  one 
year  only,  a  sort  of  hunger  for  motherhood.  Five  years 
ago  the  daughter  of  the  proprietor  of  my  hotel  was 
expecting  her  baby,  and  the  birth  of  a  human  creature 
which  was  about  to  take  place  near  me  suddenly  in- 
terested me.  The  sight  of  the  preparations,  of  the 
bassinette,  the  scales  and  the  first  clothes  stirred  my 
heart  and  aroused  my  curiosity.  I  had  seen  the  end  of 
life;  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  ought  to  see  the  beginning. 
It  was  as  though  Providence  prided  itself  on  supplying 
me  with  an  excellent  specimen  for  my  subject  of  study, 
as  the  newly-sent  child  was  a  miracle  of  beauty.  Its 


ENGLAND  93 

head  was  covered  with  golden  brown  hair,  as  curly  as 
a  lamb's  fleece.  She  was  introduced  to  me  under  a 
stream  of  electric  light  and,  dazzled  by  it,  she  blinked 
her  eyes.  I  put  my  finger  into  her  hand,  and  she  squeezed 
it  as  though  from  an  instinctive  need  to  cling  to  some- 
thing. The  contact  of  this  warm,  soft,  animated 
flesh  was  so  delicious  that  the  sensation  of  it  has  re- 
mained with  me.  Ever  since  that  moment,  for  the  last 
five  years,  I  have  watched  the  development  of  the  child's 
body  and  intelligence.  I  was  not  long  in  discovering 
that  children  are  the  most  unknown  and  the  most  mis- 
understood of  all  beings." 

"  It  is  because  each  one  has  a  different  character  and 
it  is  impossible  to  judge  one  by  another,"  objected  Sir 
William. 

"  Yes,  but  the  inner  stimulus  which  determines  its 
act  is  the  same.  Have  you  not  noticed  that  the  baby 
of  five  or  six  months  always  throws  away  the  plaything 
that  is  given  to  it,  and  as  far  as  possible?  " 

"  That  is  so." 

"  And  that  directly  afterwards  it  moves  forward  as 
though  to  fetch  it." 

"  Yes,  exactly." 

"  That  is  just  simply  the  means  Nature  has  found 
for  putting  into  action  its  muscles  of  locomotion.  To 
run  after  something  —  that  is  the  primordial,  eternal 
instinct.  When  the  child  wants  to  obey  this  instinct, 
the  mother  or  nurse,  who  is  holding  it  keeps  it  back  by 
force,  and  so  provokes  its  anger.  I  am  convinced  that 
what  we  call  naughtiness  is  only  play.  The  little  one 
likes  to  tease  the  big  one,  the  big  one  does  not  under- 
stand, punishes  and  often  whips  the  child.  The  new- 
comer, on  arrival  here,  must  touch  objects,  an  infinite 
number  of  objects,  in  order  to  come  into  contact  with 
life.  We  hinder  this,  rightly  or  wrongly.  The  child 


94  ON  THE  BRANCH 

is  a  born  explorer,  and  we  hold  him  in  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. The  cries  that  he  utters  are  necessary  for  enlarg- 
ing his  chest,  for  exercising  his  lungs,  and  we  correct 
him  in  order  to  make  him  be  quiet.  And  this  sort  of 
thing  continues  through  ignorance.  We  thwart  the  in- 
stinct which  is  really  a  great  force,  instead  of  guiding 
it  with  wisdom.  I  wonder  why  naturalists  do  not  study 
the  child  as  they  do  ants  and  bees." 

"  Darwin  undertook  that  study." 

"  Yes,  in  order  to  try  to  find  proofs  of  our  filiation 
with  the  animals.  I  should  like  it  to  be  done  without 
any  preconceived  idea.  Men  of  science  ought  to  be  the 
ones  to  enlighten  a  mother,  to  guide  the  education. 
But  we  are  only  children  ourselves.  In  the  meantime 
the  study  that  I  made  of  little  Loulou  revealed  many 
things  to  me  and  aided  Jean  Noel  considerably.  I  saw 
the  awakening  of  her  sensitiveness,  various  glimmerings 
soon  over,  which  were  reproduced  at  rather  long  intervals, 
and  then  more  and  more  frequently.  I  caught  strange 
reflections  in  her  eyes,  gleams  of  sensuality,  of  a  soul 
older  than  the  body.  I  watched  her  attempts  to  stand 
up.  Oh,  how  touching  it  is,  that  effort  of  the  human 
creature.  The  day  when,  after  refusing  my  help,  she 
succeeded,  her  face  beamed  and  she  looked  round  in  quest 
of  applause.  It  was  as  though  she  had  a  vague  con- 
sciousness of  having  mounted  one  step  of  the  ladder 
of  life.  One  day,  gentle  as  she  is,  she  threw  the  play- 
thing she  was  holding  at  the  head  of  her  nurse,  without 
any  provocation.  I  shall  never  forget  the  pathetic  ter- 
ror of  her  expression  when  she  stammered  out,  *  I 
couldn't  help  it.'  The  reflex  action  which  I  had 
witnessed  staggered  me.  How  many  times  do  we  do 
what  we  cannot  help.  The  phenomenon  of  suggestion 
has  always  excited  my  admiration  more  than  any  other. 
After  the  bedtime  play  I  was  often  present  during  the 


ENGLAND  95 

prayers.  I  was  amazed  to  see  the  nurse,  a  humble 
Breton  woman  with  her  hieratic  head-dress,  standing  up 
near  the  cot,  her  hand  on  the  child's  chest,  transmitting 
to  her,  unconsciously,  the  antique  formulas,  and  the 
child,  its  eyes  fixed  on  her  lips,  repeating,  without  under- 
standing them,  words  which  came  to  her  across  nineteen 
centuries :  '  Jesus,  the  fruit  of  your  entrails,  is  blessed.' 
You  cannot  imagine  anything  like  the  contrast  of  such 
words  from  those  childish  lips." 

My  host  smiled. 

"  No,  and  I  can  imagine  that  a  mother  would  not  see 
those  things  just  as  Jean  Noel  did." 

"  It  was  not  my  mind  alone  that  was  interested.  I  had 
grown  fond  of  this  child  I  was  studying.  The  hour 
that  I  was  with  her  was  the  happiest  of  my  day.  I 
began  to  love  her  dolls.  I  enjoyed  handling  her  toys. 
She  could  not  pronounce  my  name,  and  so  she  called 
me  *  Mi.'  This  note,  uttered  in  her  exquisite  voice,  gave 
me  great  joy.  Little  Loulou  has  gone  out  of  the  circle 
of  my  life,  but  she  has  left  behind  her  a  luminous  track. 
She  put  me  into  communion  with  the  soul  of  a  child. 
That  was  probably  her  mission,  for  I  must  see  and  hear 
children  now.  Yours  have  added  very  much  to  the 
pleasure  of  my  visit  to  Simley  Hall." 

"  And  I  am  not  sure  they  will  not  forget  the  French 
lady.  You  have  made  them  francophile  for  ever.  That 
was  your  secret  object,  wasn't  it?  "  added  my  companion 
in  a  bantering  way,  though  visibly  touched. 

"  Yes.     Is  not  that  a  good  sort  of  patriotism  ?  " 

"  The  very  best  there  is,  and  the  most  agreeable," 
replied  Sir  William  smiling. 

Simley  Hall. 

The  day  after  to-morrow  I  am  leaving  this  hospitable 
dwelling  where  I  have  been  at  rest  a  whole  month.  For 


96  ON  THE  BRANCH 

a  few  weeks  I  shall  certainly  feel  the  coldness  of  the 
hotel  and  shall  regret  the  home  life  that  I  have  been 
sharing.  I  pay,  with  a  good  grace,  for  the  joys  that 
are  accorded  me.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  come 
for  a  time  among  these  strangers.  .  .  .  What  was 
I  to  do  ?  What  elements  have  I  brought  to  them  ?  A  lit- 
tle of  my  Latin  soul,  some  of  my  French  ideas,  no  doubt. 
Sir  William  declares  that  I  have  done  him  a  great  deal 
of  good.  And  he  on  his  side,  what  a  number  of  things 
he  has  taught  me  during  our  long  conversations.  I 
have  always  desired  and  appreciated  the  society  of  men 
of  culture.  My  destiny  has  been  to  live  among  worldly 
people,  among  frivolous  men  and  women,  and  a  certain 
side  of  my  nature  has  adapted  itself  very  well  to  this, 
I  must  own.  Most  savants,  too,  only  possess  knowledge 
of  special  subjects  and  have  no  idea  of  things  as  a  whole. 
With  my  host  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  able  to 
look  at  life  and  to  discuss  it.  He  has  more  science  and 
I  more  intuition.  Intuition  is  the  science  of  the  ig- 
norant. By  means  of  these  two  factors  we  have  arrived 
at  conclusions,  and  have  mutually  enlarged  our  ideas. 
Was  that  the  object  of  our  meeting?  This  question 
keeps  coming  to  my  lips  and  to  my  pen.  Lady  Ran- 
dolph has  contributed  greatly  to  the  pleasure  of  my  stay 
at  Simley  Hall.  What  a  contrast  this  woman  is  —  so  re- 
spectful of  the  orders  and  wishes  of  her  husband,  and 
such  an  inflexible  guardian  of  tradition  and  customs  — 
to  the  emancipated  American  women  among  whom  I  live. 
I  like  to  watch  her  in  the  evening,  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  in  her  low-necked  silk  dress  trimmed  with  old  lace, 
and  her  old  jewellery.  She  carves  the  enormous  pieces 
of  roast  beef  placed  before  her  with  an  elegance  such  as 
I  have  never  before  seen.  And  it  is  a  pretty  sight,  the 
mistress  of  the  house  dispensing  to  her  family  and  guests 
the  elements  of  life.  When,  during  dinner,  the  modern 


ENGLAND  97 

spirit  makes  itself  too  evident,  when  ideas  which  are 
slightly  audacious  are  launched  by  Sir  William,  or  by  his 
children,  she  draws  herself  up  at  once,  and  in  a  tone  mod- 
ulated by  gentleness  and  authority  she  remarks,  "  I 
wish  you  would  not  say  that."  It  is  with  these  words 
that  she  draws  the  reins  and  everyone  stops.  She  is 
an  Irish  woman  and  a  Protestant.  She  is  very  dark, 
her  face  rather  hard,  but  it  softens  wonderfully  when 
she  looks  at  her  husband.  I  have  many  a  time  surprised 
a  glance  betraying  the  anguish  of  her  soul.  She  fol- 
lows him  everywhere  with  her  eyes,  with  eyes  which  know 
that  they  will  not  see  him  long.  She  has  never  spoken 
to  me  of  her  anguish,  but  she  knows  that  I  have  guessed 
it,  and  there  is  a  constant  current  of  feminine  sympathy 
between  us. 

To-day  was  my  last  Sunday  in  England.  When  Sir 
William  told  me  that  they  had  family  prayers  at  Simley 
Hall,  he  said  that  I  was  free  to  attend  them  if  I  liked, 
adding  in  his  caustic  tone,  "  They  won't  hurt  you,  you 
know."  I  did  attend  them,  and  I  found  great  comfort  in 
them.  On  Sundays,  hymns  are  sung,  which  Lady  Ran- 
dolph accompanies  on  the  piano.  The  old  butler,  the 
cook,  the  housemaids  all  arrive  with  their  little  bench 
and  their  hymn-books.  Sir  William,  whose  vocal  cords 
are  already  affected,  can  no  longer  read  the  chapter 
from  the  Bible.  His  son  or  his  grandson  reads  for 
him,  but  he  always  chooses  the  chapter.  The  sight  of 
these  men  kneeling  down  like  little  children  affects  me 
in  spite  of  myself.  This  evening  my  eyes  fell  on  my 
host  and  I  saw  his  back.  His  shoulders  were  prominent 
under  the  cloth,  and  his  smoking-coat  hung  in  the  most 
lamentable  manner.  He  had  asked  for  his  favourite 
hymn  to  be  sung,  and  in  his  poor  broken  voice  he  re- 
peated the  following  verse  — 


98  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Nearer  my  God  to  Thee,  nearer  to  Thee, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross  that  raiseth  me, 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be 
Nearer  my  God  to  Thee,  nearer  to  Thee." 

In  the  mouth  of  this  doomed  man  these  words  had  a 
poignant  meaning.  I  felt  that  he  uttered  them  with 
a  full  knowledge  of  the  situation,  and  that  they  were 
Jiis  confession  of  resignation.  Nearer  to  God  . 
.ah,  how  near  he  already  was!  When  the  little  service 
•was  over,  the  domestics  went  quietly  away,  according 
to  their  custom,  without  a  word  or  sign  from  the  family. 
This  always  surprises  me,  and  my  host  caught  my  look 
as  I  watched  them  leave  the  room. 

"  Nice  kind  of  Christianity,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said,  in  a 
mocking  tone.  "  We  pray  together,  but  we  neither  say 
good-morning  nor  good-night  to  each  other." 

"  But  William,"  protested  Lady  Randolph,  "  you 
know  very  well  that  it  would  be  impossible." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  deplore.  We  have  an 
etiquette  in  flagrant  contradiction  to  our  religion  and 
the  principles  we  profess." 

"  Papa  you  are  a  Radical,"  said  Mrs.  Loftus,  smil- 
ing. 

"  No,  but  in  the  presence  of  foreigners  I  feel  our 
hardness  and  how  illogical  we  are.  Let  us  go  and  look 
at  the  stars,  Madame  de  Myeres,"  added  Sir  William  in 
a  brusque  tone.  "  Up  there,  at  least,  all  seems  to  be 
harmony." 

Svmley  Hatt. 

This  evening,  after  dinner,  which  was  earlier  than 
usual  on  account  of  a  departure,  my  host  and  I  took  our 
way  for  the  last  time  to  the  observatory.  Freddy  ac- 
companied us  as  usual.  We  walked  slowly,  with  our 


ENGLAND  $9 

heads  rather  bent,  as  human  beings  do  when  they  are 
sad.  When  we  were  seated  before  the  open  window  of 
the  little  room  I  shivered  nervously. 

"  Are  you  cold?  "  asked  Sir  William. 

"  No,  it  is  the  effect  of  your  twilight." 

"  Do  you  feel  it  then,  too?  " 

"  Do  I  feel  it?  Why,  it  is  extraordinary,  uncanny 
as  you  say,  and  never  the  same.  Sometimes  it  is  pleasant, 
sometimes  sinister,  grey,  black,  yellow,  like  this  one; 
look  at  it." 

The  sky  was  of  a  transparent  lividness.  The  gleam, 
made  of  the  gold  of  the  setting  sun  and  the  evening 
mists,  gave  to  the  landscape  a  boreal  and  mysterious 
aspect.  The  foliage  looked  black,  bats  came  forth  from 
right  and  left  with  the  haste  of  starving  creatures,  big 
star  beetles  went  hither  and  thither  snapping  up  late 
gnats.  In  the  air  there  was  a  sort  of  silence  of  ex- 
pectation. 

"  Nothing  would  convince  me,"  I  said,  "  that  at  this 
hour  the  space  is  not  entirely  peopled.  In  Rome  and 
in  England  I  have  had  this  sensation  of  invisible  pres- 
ence." 

"  Shakespeare,  a  great  many  poets,  and  even  simple 
mortals  have  had  that  sensation.  There  are  no  painters, 
I  fancy,  capable  of  rendering  the  atmosphere  of  one 
of  our  twilights." 

"  Ary  Scheffer  would,  perhaps,  have  succeeded. 
Do  you  know  his  picture  of  St.  Augustine  and  Mon- 
ica?" 

My  companion's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure. 

"  Do  I  know  it  ?  I  have  never  passed  so  much  time 
before  any  other  picture.  I  am  glad  you  mentioned 
it.  On  each  of  our  journeys  to  Paris  I  have  been  to 
the  Louvre  to  see  it  again.  Ary  Scheffer  is  not  reckoned 
among  the  first  artists,  and  yet  that  was  a  stroke  of 


100  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  brush  which  I  look  upon  as  a  veritable  revelation. 
The  light  on  Monica's  face  is  unearthly,  it  is  the  re- 
flection of  a  marvellous  vision." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  because  of  that  light  that  I  have 
always  the  photograph  of  the  picture  in  my  bedroom." 

"  It  is  enough  to  make  one  believe  in  the  Hereafter." 

"  You  don't  need  that  in  order  to  believe  in  it,"  I 
said,  smiling. 

"  Thank  God,  I  know,  with  Tennyson  that  I  shall 
see  my  pilot  face  to  face,  when  I  have  crossed  the  bar." 

There  was  a  rather  long  silence  between  my  companion 
and  me. 

"  Have  you  ever  imagined  the  shape  of  the  Uni- 
verse ?  "  asked  Sir  William  suddenly. 

"  No ;  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  it !  " 

"  Ah,  indeed !     Where  was  that?  " 

"  About  twenty  years  ago  when  I  was  for  the  first 
time  in  front  of  the  Pyramids.  I  was  greatly  impressed. 
They  stood  out  against  the  old  Egyptian  sky  with  ex- 
traordinary clearness.  Their  mathematical  beauty 
struck  me.  The  idea  struck  me,  too,  that  perhaps  that 
was  the  form  of  the  Universe.  Between  the  four  tri- 
angular faces  of  the  figure  I  saw  millions  of  human 
beings  moving  about,  rising  and  refining  themselves,  in 
order  to  join  each  other  at  the  same  summit,  a  summit 
of  beauty,  perfection  and  happiness,  such  as  we  could 
not  conceive.  I  said  to  myself  that  this  symbol  of  uni- 
versal life,  placed  over  tombs  perhaps  signified  '  Immor- 
tality.' " 

"  You  have,  perhaps,  guessed  rightly,"  I  said.  "  I 
have  looked  at  the  Pyramids  for  hours  without  pene- 
trating the  symbol.  The  sight  of  them  irritated  me 
finally." 

"They  caused  me  secret  joy,  on  the  contrary." 


ENGLAND  101 

"  You  see  *  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth.'  What  I 
discern  here  below  is  the  movement  of  the  shuttle.  It 
seems  to  me  that  an  invisible  hand  passes  it  backwards 
and1  forwards  through  the  threads  of  our  existence. 
When  I  see  it  going  I  look  for  it  coming  back.  That 
amuses  me  like  a  game." 

Sir  William  began  to  laugh. 

"  Your  speculations  concerning  the  soul  must  be 
curious,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  think  the  soul  is  the  holy  sacrament  of  the 
body." 

I  saw  my  host's  nostrils  dilate. 

"  The  soul  .  .  .  the  holy  sacrament  of  the  body," 
he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  that  does  not  mean  anything  to  you,  because 
you  are  not  a  Roman  Catholic." 

"  It  means  a  great  deal,  on  the  contrary  —  go  on." 

"  It  envelops  the  body  like  a  radiant  aureole.  It 
transmits  to  it  the  inspirations  that  it  receives.  And 
the  body,  with  its  marvellous  organs  of  thought,  of 
sensations  and  action,  is  its  instrument  of  progress. 
It  is  given  to  it  for  a  minute,  an  hour,  three-quarters  of 
a  century.  It  lasts  as  long  as  it  is  intended  to  last. 
It  wears  out,  is  broken  up,  destroyed.  Nature  sup- 
plies the  soul  with  another  one.  The  one  that  it  leaves 
is  transformed,  as  you  know,  and  life  continues,  uninter- 
rupted, eternal." 

"  I  can  only  say,  with  the  Italians,  '  If  it  is  not  true 
it  is  well  imagined.'  " 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  I  said  with  secret  complacency.  "  Any- 
how, these  are  only  a  woman's  speculations.  They  are 
probably  of  no  philosophical  value.  They  amuse  and 
console  me.  I  have  given  them  to  you,  because  you 
wished  to  hear  them." 

"  And  you  probably  believe  in  the  soul  of  animals  ?  " 


102  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  As  I  do  in  my  own.  There  must  be  souls  of  species, 
individual  souls  and  souls  of  all  degrees,  a  marvellous 
ladder  of  them  I  do  not  doubt;  that  ladder,  perhaps, 
the  symbol  of  which  Jacob  saw  in  a  dream.  Do  you 
not  feel  a  psychological  bond  between  yourself  and 
Freddy?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  feel  it.  Oh,  we  understand  each  other 
perfectly  well,  don't  we,  old  boy  ?  "  said  Sir  William. 

The  fox  terrier,  who  appeared  to  be  asleep,  raised 
his  head  at  once,  fixed  his  speaking  eyes  on  his  master, 
and  shook  his  short  tail  joyously. 

"  You  see,"  I  said,  "  even  in  his  sleep,  he  has  not  only 
heard  your  voice,  but  caught  the  caressing  tone.  It 
needs  more  than  ears  for  that." 

"  You  are  right." 

"  The  day  before  yesterday  your  collie  began  to  bark 
at  a  little  calf,  when  passing  by  the  meadow  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill.  The  mother  was  grazing  a  few  yards 
away.  She  turned  round,  and  then  advanced  slowly, 
her  gaze  fixed  on  me  with  an  expression  that  attracted 
me,  as  it  was  so  human.  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  and 
more  psychological  expression  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman 
mother,  for  it  was  that  of  maternal  love,  in  arms.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  the  high  barrier  which  protected  us 
we  should  have  run  real  danger.  Man  has  not  yet 
seriously  studied  animals.  He  has  not  looked  for  the 
divine  spark  in  them.  When  he  is  more  perfect  he  will 
acquire  over  the  inferior  creatures  the  power  which  the 
Bible  attributed  to  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
If  I  have  any  doubts  about  the  existence  of  an  earthly 
Paradise,  I  do  not  doubt  about  a  future  Eden." 

"  That  is  something,"  observed  my  host,  with  gentle 
mockery;  and  then,  after  looking  at  me  for  a  few  sec- 
onds, he  added,  "  Evidently,  if  you  had  had  a  house  to 
manage,  servants  to  superintend,  social  relations  to  keep 


ENGLAND  103 

up,  you  would  not  have  had  time  to  look  at  life  in  the 
way  you  have  done." 

"  No,  especially  considering  my  frivolity.  Providence 
literally  put  me  into  lodgings  in  order  to  oblige  me  to 
reflect  and  to  work,  but  why  so  late  in  the  day  ?  " 

My  companion  raised  his  a^rms  and  let  them  fall 
again. 

"Who  knows?" 

"  And  I  feel  myself  curiously  urged  on.  I  always 
have  the  intuition  now  that  I  must  make  haste." 

"  You  are  not  to  be  pitied  for  having  been  put  into 
lodgings  as  you  call  it.  The  success  you  have  had  must 
cause  you  some  satisfaction?  " 

"  A  satisfaction  that  is  very  much  attenuated,  I  can 
assure  you.  Formerly  this  success,  which  I  have  so  little 
time  to  enjoy,  and  of  which  my  own  people  have  never 
known,  would  have  seemed  to  me  cruel  irony,  an  insult 
even.  At  present  I  know  that  it  could  not  have  hap- 
pened earlier.  Besides,  everything  has  been  late  in  my 
life.  Would  you  believe  that,  at  the  age  of  forty,  I 
no  more  felt  Nature  than  if  I  had  been  deaf  and  blind?  " 

"Is  that  possible?" 

"  Absolutely ;  my  physical  activity,  my  absorbing  love 
for  M.  de  Myeres  rendered  me  refractory  to  the  all-power- 
fulness  of  Nature.  The  summer  after  the  catastrophe 
about  which  you  know,  I  happened  to  be  in  Switzerland, 
at  Lucerne.  I  had  always  liked  walking  for  the  pleasure 
of  movement  and  the  contact  with  the  air.  From  habit 
I  went  every  day  for  my  walk,  but  my  pace  had  become 
decidedly  slower.  I  went  straight  along,  anywhere,  my 
head  bent,  and  with  a  heavy  tread  like  a  very  old  woman. 
I  took  a  book  with  me  to  read  during  my  halts,  my 
halts  in  front  of  pictures  which  were  full  of  life  and 
of  Divine  light.  One  afternoon  I  was  alone,  and  lost, 
as  it  were,  on  one  of  the  plains  which  dominated  the 


104)  ON  THE  BRANCH 

town.  Before  going  down  again  I  was  resting  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  and  I  looked  round  with  my  habitual 
indifference.  The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  horizon  with 
unusual  splendour.  Whilst  it  filled  the  West  with  gold 
it  softened  and  blended  the  blues  and  the  greens,  and 
the  greys  of  the  east  stumped  the  mountain  tops  and 
created  mysterious  distances.  An  evening  breeze,  light 
and  silent,  made  the  meadow  grass  lie  down  and  stirred 
the  leaves  over  my  head.  Not  a  human  being  was  in 
this  picture.  What  was  taking  place?  The  phenom- 
enon which  brings  about  conversions  probably.  My 
gaze  was  held  as  though  by  an  invisible  force.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  though  a  fluid  body  were  penetrating  me,  and 
suddenly  I  felt  the  sky,  the  mountain,  the  warm  splen- 
dour of  the  West,  the  cold  sadness  of  the  East.  This 
first  communion  with  Nature  was  more  exquisite  than 
anything  you  could  imagine.  It  opened  to  me  a  source 
of  inexhaustible  en j  oyment.  The  cloud  which  passes, 
and  the  play  of  light,  now  make  me  vibrate  like  a  sound- 
ing board.  There  is  no  doubt  but  that  on  this  par- 
ticular day  I  was  put  into  communion  with  the  soul  of 
the  world.  I  have  returned  several  times  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  spot  where  the  miracle  took  place.  You  see 
that  with  this  faculty  of  seeing  Nature,  which  doubles 
my  power  of  life  and  my  intellectual  life,  I  have  some- 
thing with  which  to  go  through  old  age." 

Sir  William  began  to  twist  Freddy's  ears.  He  looked 
at  me  and  then  hesitated: 

"  Have  you  any  relatives  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  No,  unless  it  is  the  Baroness  d'Hauterive,"  I  replied, 
not  without  some  bitterness. 

"  You  have,  of  course,  some  good  friends?  " 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  not  one  single  friend  of  my  child- 
hood left,  not  one  of  those  to  whom  one  can  say, 
'  You  remember? '  I  am  weeks  without  speaking 


ENGLAND  105 

French.  It  is  the  most  complete  isolation  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd,  the  most  profound  silence  in  the  midst  of 
noise." 

"  A  very  extraordinary  life's  end,"  said  my  host  pen- 
sively. 

He  began  once  more  to  twist  Freddy's  ears.  I  guessed 
that  his  interest  in  me  was  struggling  against  that  ad- 
mirable discretion  which  distinguishes  the  English  char- 
acter. The  interest  won  the  day. 

"  In  case  of  serious  illness,  what  should  you  do  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  we  have  houses  where  I  shall  find  the  necessary 
care.  And  I  hope,"  I  added  smiling,  "  that  Providence 
has  reserved  for  me  a  nice  Sister  of  Mercy,  one  of  its 
gentle  collaborators  who  will  close  my  eyes  and  dress  me 
for  the  grave  with  decency  and  respect." 

Sir  William  lowered  his  eyelids  and  there  was  another 
silence  between  us. 

"  Is  it  decided  that  you  will  not  go  to  Touraine  this 
year?  " 

"  No,  after  going  to  Bagnoles  de  1'Orne,  for  the 
waters,  I  shall  return  to  Paris,  as  I  said." 

"  I  am  sorry." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  if  you  had  been  at  Vouvray  I  would  have 
asked  you  to  call  on  the  Lussons  and  take  them  news 
of  us.  I  have  spoken  of  you  to  them.  They  would 
have  made  you  welcome  at  the  Commanderie  of  Rou- 
ziers." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

"  I  should  very  much  like  you  to  know  them.  Have 
you  any  objection?  " 

"Any  objection?  No,  not  exactly,"  I  replied,  with 
some  embarrassment ;  "  but  I  have  not  time  for  cultiva- 
ting social  relations." 


106  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  social  relations,  and  I  fancy 
that  there  would  soon  be  great  friendship  between  you 
and  the  Lussons.  I  shall  ask  them  to  call  on  you  as 
soon  as  they  are  back  in  Paris.  The  daughter  will 
interest  you.  She  has  the  Latin  soul,  but  in  her  char- 
acter the  Celtic  and  Saxon  element  she  has  inherited 
is  easily  distinguished.  She  has  a  generous,  active,  in- 
dependent nature,  great  individuality." 

"Is  she  pretty?" 

"  Yes,  very  attractive ;  very  healthy,  above  all." 

"  So  much  the  better ;  nothing  delights  me  as  much 
as  that." 

"  As  to  the  father  he  will  surely  win  you  over.  Be- 
sides, in  my  opinion,  a  Frenchman  of  good  birth  who 
is  well  bred  is  perfection." 

"  Thanks  for  my  countrymen,"  I  said,  secretly  flat- 
tered. 

"  Shall  you  spend  all  the  winter  in  Paris  ?  "  asked  Sir 
William. 

"  Probably,  unless  you  return  to  Cannes.  If  so  I 
will  join  you  there  in  January." 

"  At  Cannes !  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  allowed  to  go. 
The  doctor  considers  me  like  a  broken  table;  he  fears 
any  shaking  that  is  prolonged.  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  long  j  ourneys.  You  see,  I  have  always  suffered  from 
a  lack  of  light  and  of  the  picturesque.  Those  are  the 
things  which  for  years  I  have  gone  in  search  of  in 
France,  Italy  and  the  East.  When  I  have  revelled  in 
them  for  two  or  three  months  I  am  glad  to  return  to 
see  our  rich  verdure  again,  our  magnificent  trees,  and 
with  fine  human  ingratitude  I  say  rabidly,  *  After  all, 
there  is  no  country  equal  to  old  England.'  You  will 
come  again  to  Simley,  I  hope." 

"  Jf  you  invite  me,  certainly," 


ENGLAND  107 

"  If  I  do  not  invite  you,  it  will  be  for  a  good  rea- 
son." 

These  words  were  accompanied  by  a  smile  painful  to 
see. 

"  My  son  will  take  my  place.  He  will  be  very  happy 
to  welcome  you.  He  is  more  and  more  interested  in 
astronomy.  That  gives  me  great  pleasure,  as  I  am 
glad  to  think  this  little  observatory  will  not  be  use- 
less." 

My  host  looked  round  with  a  long,  sad  gaze,  which 
he  fixed  finally  on  me. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  we  ever  find  again  those  whom 
we  have  lost?  " 

"  Oh,  we  find  them  again,  not,  however,  as  we  do  in 
the  fifth  act  of  our  melodramas ;  still,  we  may  be  placed 
in  the  same  circle,  and  continue  our  evolution  together. 
For  instance,  I  fancy  that  you  and  I  are  very  old 
friends.  If  it  were  not  so  you  would  not  have  ventured 
to  tease  me  the  first  moment  we  met  as  you  did.  You 
would  not  have  invited  me  to  Simley  Hall  and  I  should 
not  have  made  my  confession  to  you.  Our  meeting,  I 
am  convinced,  has  not  been  useless,  and  it  will  take  place 
again  elsewhere." 

"  Ah  well,  I  hope,  then,  that  it  will  be  less  brief," 
said  my  host  gently. 

"  I  hope  so,  too." 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  as  our  strange  conversation  had 
been  broken  by  long  silences. 

Sir  William  looked  up  at  the  starry  firmament. 

"  You  want  to  say  farewell  to  your  stars,  I  suppose  ?  " 
he  said,  his  voice  slightly  broken. 

I  answered  by  a  nod  in  the  affirmative.  He  rose,  and 
I  followed  him  into  the  observatory.  He  had  soon  put 
the  telescope  in  position. 


108  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  No  mist  this  evening,"  he  said ;  "  a  night  made 
for  you." 

No,  there  was  no  mist,  and  the  beautiful  centres  of 
light  and  life  shone  with  rare  brilliancy.  I  was  not 
long  before  I  felt  myself  penetrated  with  and  enveloped 
in  the  peace  and  silence  of  the  Infinite.  I  heard  dis- 
tinctly —  oh,  so  distinctly !  —  the  seconds  that  the  side- 
real clock  above  me  counted.  It  was  fantastic,  these  sec- 
onds of  earth,  sounding  one  by  one  in  the  midst  of 
immensity.  And  I  was  conscious  that  they  were  not 
lost,  that  they  were  going  to  join  the  seconds  of  all  these 
other  worlds,  that,  in  reality,  they  sounded  up  there. 
I  sent  a  mute  adieu  to  my  favourite  stars  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  could  tear  myself  away  from  a 
contemplation  which  filled  my  soul  with  admiration,  joy 
and  hope. 

"  Supposing  that  you  could  choose,  to  which  planet 
of  our  solar  system  would  you  go  on  leaving  the  earth  ?  " 
asked  Sir  William,  when  I  had  come  down  from  the 
platform. 

"  To  Jupiter,"  I  replied. 

"  That's  unfortunate,  for  astronomers  affirm  that  it 
is  not  habitable." 

"  They  may  be  mistaken ;  it  would  not  be  the  first 
time.  About  thirty  years  ago,  at  the  commencement  of 
experiments  with  magnetism,  one  of  my  father's  friends, 
who  had  extraordinary  power,  sent  one  of  his  farmer's 
sons  to  sleep,  a  boy  of  fifteen  years  old.  Several  times, 
at  my  request,  he  put  me  into  communication  with  him. 
One  day  the  idea  occurred  to  me  to  send  him  to  Mars. 
His  face  at  once  expressed  abject  terror,  real  suffering. 
By  an  effort  of  will  I  hurried  him  to  Jupiter  and  there 
it  was  delight  that  he  felt.  He  saw  things  which  I 
will  not  repeat,  because  they  would  seem  absurd  to  you, 
but  they  made  me  wish  to  be  sent  there." 


ENGLAND  109 

"  Let  it  be  Jupiter,  then,"  said  Sir  William,  with  a 
smile. 

This  jesting,  which  hid  our  mutual  emotion,  ended 
the  conversation.  We  went  back  to  the  house  slowly 
and  silently,  both  of  us  aware  that  we  had  just  had  our 
last  communion  in  this  world. 


PABIS 

Hotel  de  Castiglione. 

THEY  were  all  at  the  station,  the  parents,  the  grand- 
parents, the  grandchildren,  Kim  and  Freddy,  the  two 
fox  terriers.  And,  towering  above  the  group  by  his  tall 
figure  Sir  William  stood  there,  impassive,  his  nostrils  di- 
lating with  the  effort  of  breathing.  His  eyes,  which 
know,  said  to  me  adieu  and  not  au  revoir.  That  was 
very  painful.  Claude  Randolph  went  with  me  to  Lon- 
don. His  father  had  told  him  to  take  me  to  dine  at  the 
Carlton,  and  then  to  a  cafe  concert  to  make  up  for  the 
austerity  of  Simley  Hall.  We  went,  but  during  the 
whole  of  the  evening  I  saw  nothing  but  the  starry  field, 
the  little  observatory,  and  the  solitary  figure  of  the  friend 
whom  I  had  left.  Beside  that  picture,  the  dining-room 
of  the  Carlton,  with  its  worldly  men  and  women,  the  large 
music-hall  with  its  actors,  all  gave  me  an  impression 
such  as  I  had  never  experienced  of  lower  life.  I  left 
the  following  day.  The  heat  was  intense,  and  London 
nearly  empty.  Paris  was  in  the  same  state.  I  was  in 
a  hurry  to  commence  my  cure  at  Bagnoles.  Every  year 
I  must  have  a  good  season  at  a  watering-place.  This 
macerating  of  the  body  in  spring  water,  which  is  full 
of  purifying  elements,  seems  to  me  necessary  to  health. 
I  had  decided  to  go  to  Aix-les-Bains,  and  then  I  was 
impelled  towards  a  spot  the  very  name  of  which  I  did 
not  know  two  months  before.  The  secretary  and  the 

110 


PARIS  111 

housekeeper  of  the  Hotel  de  Castiglione,  two  straight- 
forward, intelligent  people,  had  the  brilliant  idea  of 
marrying  each  other,  and  had  been  appointed  to  manage 
the  Grand  Hotel  at  Bagnoles.  After  giving  me  an  al- 
luring description  of  the  country  round,  they  persuaded 
me  to  go  there,  offering  me  a  bedroom  and  sitting  room 
in  the  part  of  the  hotel  which  had  been  allotted  to  them. 
This  tempted  me  as  I  knew  they  would  do  all  in  their 
power  to  make  me  comfortable.  I  am  beginning  to  feel 
a  vague  need  of  protection,  and  this  is  a  bad  sign.  I 
bought,  and  had  framed,  one  of  Braun's  beautiful  carbon 
photographs  of  Monica  and  St.  Augustine,  by  Ary 
Scheffer,  and  sent  it  to  Sir  William.  I  wanted  him  to 
have  that  wonderful  ray  from  the  other  world,  so  that 
it  might  give  him  hope,  as  it  has  done  to  so  many  others. 
Oh,  how  much  a  stroke  of  the  artist's  brush  may  con- 
tain! 

And  now  en  route  for  the  famous  Bagnoles-de-1'Orne. 


VI 

BAGNOLES-DE-I/OBNE 

Grand  Hotel,  Bagnoles-de-VOrne. 

AH,  I  knew  very  well  that  it  would  have  an  epilogue, 
my  grievous  calamity!  The  theatre,  as  a  dramatic 
author  said  to  me  the  other  day,  is  the  art  of  prepara- 
tions, and  life  is  certainly  the  science  of  them.  We  do 
not  study  closely  enough  the  chain  work  of  circumstan- 
ces, the  admirable  progression  which  leads  to  decisive 
events.  All  that  I  had  told  Sir  William  had  prepared 
me  unawares  for  what  was  awaiting  me  here.  I  arrived 
at  Bagnoles  by  the  last  train.  On  leaving  my  compart- 
ment I  found  myself  among  scenery  of  almost  unreal 
beauty,  depths  of  vast  forest,  a  slumbering  lake,  a 
church  on  the  heights,  houses  scattered  about,  white 
roads,  and  the  whole  divinely  lighted  by  the  warm  bril- 
liancy of  a  summer  moon. 

The  manager  and  his  wife  were  awaiting  me  at  the 
station.  I  was  glad  to  see  them  there.  They  took  me 
to  the  hotel,  which  was  only  a  few  yards  away,  and 
showed  me  the  rooms  they  had  prepared  for  me.  All 
was  new,  simple  and  charming.  In  the  little  drawing- 
room,  Madame  Lima  had  neither  forgotten  the  large, 
substantial  writing-table  nor  the  sofa,  which  are  both 
so  necessary  to  me.  There  were,  besides,  some  forest 
flowers  and  a  tray  with  cold  meat,  fruit  and  milk.  My 
first  impression  was  so  pleasant  that  I  congratulated 
myself  mentally  on  having  accepted  the  proposal  of 
these  good  people.  I  should  probably  not  have  been 

112 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  113 

allowed  to  have  done  otherwise.  It  took  the  whole 
of  the  following  morning  to  install  myself.  I  pinned 
up  my  photographs,  my  Notre  Dame  de  la  Victoire 
(the  Victory  of  Samothrace)  opposite  my  bed,  and  I 
fastened  my  gris-grls  up  here  and  there.  I  took  from 
my  trunks  the  books  which  are  my  inseparable  com- 
panions, those  pages  written  "  on  the  branch "  and 
which  are  already  numerous.  I  then  prepared  my  writ- 
ing table,  and  all  that  with  a  childish  pleasure,  with  that 
pathetic  ignorance,  which  the  human  being  has,  of  events 
which  are  about  to  happen.  I  went  downstairs  towards 
noon  and,  after  walking  through  the  rooms  and  admir- 
ing the  beautiful  view  from  the  terrace,  I  returned, 
quite  satisfied,  and  sat  down  in  the  hall  to  watch  "  the 
guests,"  as  the  Americans  call  them,  file  by,  and  to  find 
out  into  what  milieu  I  had  been  sent.  I  had  been  there 
for  a  few  minutes  when,  suddenly,  I  felt  a  violent  shock. 
I  made  a  movement  forwards,  my  hands  seemed  to  be- 
come incrusted  in  the  arms  of  my  chair  and  my  eyes 
remained  fixed  on  the  corridor,  where  I  had  just  seen 
an  apparition,  a  tall  young  man  in  riding-dress  with 
whip  in  hand.  He  had  come  in  through  the  gateway, 
and  had  passed  quickly  in  front  of  me.  His  moun- 
taineer hat  was  pushed  back  and  showed  his  face,  the 
living  face  of  M.  de  Myeres!  I  remained  there,  as 
though  thunderstruck,  for  a  few  seconds,  then,  rising, 
all  tottering  as  I  was,  I  went  to  the  hall  porter. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man?  "  I  asked. 

The  Baron  d'Hauterive  I  was  told.  My  husband's 
son !  Had  I  not  seen  it !  Had  I  not  felt  it ! 

"  His  mother  has  been  here  for  some  weeks,"  con- 
tinued Louis.  "  Poor  lady,  she  was  so  ill  when  she  ar- 
rived that  she  had  to  be  carried  from  the  station  to  the 
hotel.  Now  she  can  walk  alone,  and  she  goes  round 


114  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  terrace  and  into  the  garden  every  day.  A  good  ad- 
vertisement for  the  Bagnoles  waters !  " 

"  Where  are  her  rooms?  " 

"  On  the  ground-floor.  She  has  a  suite  of  rooms 
—  No.  10." 

Colette,  too,  there  —  quite  near  me ! 

At  that  moment  the  manager  approached  to  show 
me  into  the  dining-room.  I  followed  him  mechanically 
and  took  the  seat  he  gave  me.  The  immense  room  had 
panes  of  glass  along  one  side.  The  light  caused  me 
a  disagreeable  sensation.  It  was  as  though  it  fell  on 
a  naked  wound.  I  did  not  distinguish  anyone.  My 
eyes  remained  rivetted  on  the  door  with  the  desire  and 
fear  of  seeing  Guy  d'Hauterive  enter.  I  could  not 
endure  this  tension  very  long,  and  left  the  table  before 
the  end  of  luncheon.  I  went  up  to  my  room  and,  by 
a  curious  instinct,  turned  the  key  in  my  door,  as  I  always 
do  when  under  the  sway  of  any  agitation.  I  com- 
menced walking  up  and  down,  stopping  now  and  then 
to  touch  some  object  or  change  its  place.  Ever  since 
I  had  disciplined  my  mind  to  consider  the  human  being 
as  a  simple  factor,  my  hatred  for  Colette  had  changed  to 
pity.  I  was  sure  that  she,  too,  had  suffered  very  much. 
Several  times  even  I  had  had  a  secret  wish  to  see  her 
again.  I  had  not,  however,  foreseen  the  double  trial 
which  awaited  me,  the  meeting  of  the  mother  and  of  the 
son.  The  existence  of  the  latter  had  remained  intolerable 
to  me,  like  a  live  thorn  in  my  heart.  The  news  of  his 
death  would  certainly  have  been  a  relief  to  me.  During 
the  last  two  years,  at  the  theatre,  at  the  Concours  Hip- 
pique,  whilst  taking  tea  at  the  Ritz,  I  had  been  haunted 
by  the  fear  of  distinguishing  in  the  crowd  a  young  man 
with  the  features  of  M.  de  Myeres.  The  unexpected 
sight  of  him,  his  outrageous  resemblance,  provoked  in  me 
a  sort  of  sex  anger  which  was  stronger  than  all  my  phi- 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  115 

losophy,  and,  to  my  own  horror,  made  me  descend  to  the 
level  of  the  woman  of  the  harem  or  of  the  tent. 

Suddenly  my  gaze  was  directed  towards  the  "  Victory 
of  Samothrace."  She  seemed  to  be  coming  to  meet  me, 
her  wings  joyously  outstretched,  her  step  light.  Her 
beauty  seemed  to  emit  a  ray  of  Divine  light  and  my  fem- 
inine jealousy  suddenly  appeared  to  me  vile  and  paltry 
so  that  my  mind  rose  above  it.  I  was  struck  by  the  chain 
of  events  which  had  brought  me  to  Bagnoles.  One  would 
have  to  be  singularly  dense  only  to  see  there  the  effect  of 
chance.  I  had  been  pushed  along  towards  Colette  like 
a  piece  on  a  chess-board.  What  was  the  reason  of  this 
move  ?  I  could  not  tell  yet,  but  a  painful  meeting  seemed 
inevitable.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  my  avoiding 
it.  In  less  than  an  hour  I  could  have  my  trunk  packed 
again.  The  train  was  there  —  a  few  steps  away, 
whistling  in  my  ears,  offering  to  take  me  wher- 
ever I  liked.  Was  I  not  free  ?  Free  —  no,  I  was  held 
back  by  curiosity  to  see  the  work  of  these  fifteen  last 
years  on  my  cousin,  by  the  wretched  vanity  of  show- 
ing myself,  old,  yes,  but  in  the  plenitude  of  my  faculties, 
with  the  little  halo  that  literary  success  had  given  me. 
Was  I  not  held  back,  too,  by  the  desire  of  seeing  the  son 
of  M.  de  Myeres  again,  of  hearing  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
of  knowing  just  how  far  it  was  he!  These  senti- 
ments chained  me  there  more  effectually  than  material 
bonds  could  have  done.  No,  I  will  not  go  away,  Provi- 
dence has  decided  otherwise.  God  has  willed  it;  God 
wishes  it !  What  security  and  what  force  there  is  in  that 
conviction !  Wearied  out  by  the  violence  of  the  inward 
storm  I  had  just  weathered,  I  lay  down  on  my  sofa  and 
tried  to  familiarise  myself  with  the  idea  of  seeing  Colette 
again.  Was  she  as  ill  as  the  hall-porter  said?  Had 
I  been  sent  here  to  bring  her  peace?  If  so,  I  would 
certainly  give  it  her  at  any  cost.  I  saw  her  again  with 


116  ON  THE  BRANCH 

her  dull,  warm  complexion  like  white  velvet,  her  magnif- 
icent black  eyes,  her  smiling,  kind  lips.  Memories  of 
childhood  and  youth  emerged  from  all  the  circumvolu- 
tions of  my  brain.  They  showed  me  a  woman  ardent 
and  impulsive,  but  frank  and  good.  How?  When? 
Where?  This  triangle  of  questions  came  again  to  my 
mind  for  the  hundred  thousandth  time.  I  was  to  know 
at  last.  And  the  fresh  trial  was  only,  perhaps,  like  so 
many  others,  a  blessing  in  disguise.  In  what  way  had 
Providence  arranged  for  our  meeting?  Would  Colette 
come  to  me?  Should  I  go  to  her?  This  question  was 
scarcely  formulated  when  someone  knocked  at  my  door. 
It  was  one  of  the  pages. 

"  From  Madame  la  Baronne  d'Hauterive,"  he  said, 
presenting  me  with  a  letter  on  a  salver. 

The  unformed,  delicate  hand-writing,  recognisable 
among  a  thousand,  caused  my  heart  to  beat  violently. 
She  knew,  then,  she  too,  that  we  were  under  the  same 
roof.  And  this  is  what  she  wrote  to  me : 

"  Antone,  a  week  ago,  Madame  Lima,  the  Manager's 
wife,  told  me  that  Jean  Noel  was  coming  here  and  told 
me  too  the  author's  real  name  was  Madame  de  Myeres! 
I  have  not  yet  recovered  from  this  revelation,  and  I  have 
been  waiting  for  you  with  anguish  mixed  with  joy,  such 
as  you  cannot  imagine.  You  —  the  novelist  whose  books 
have  moved  me  so  deeply !  It  is  too  beautiful,  incon- 
ceivable. I  have  forgotten  everything  else.  God 
brings  us  together  again  after  fifteen  years.  I  can  guess 
what  this  favour  forebodes.  I  came  to  Bagnoles  to  get 
up  my  strength  for  an  operation  for  tumour  which  is  to 
take  place  early  in  September.  It  depends  on  you 
whether  I  am  to  face  death  without  terror.  Grant  me 
this  interview  for  which  I  have  so  often  begged  in  vain. 
Madame  de  Myeres  may  be  implacable  —  Jean  Noel  must 
be  able  to  forgive.  It  is  to  him  that  I  appeal.  Will  he 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  117 

receive  me  to-morrow  afternoon  —  and  at  what  time  ?  " 
Tears  started  from  my  eyes  and  these  tears  for 
Colette  refreshed  my  heart  like  dew.  I  replied  at  once: 
"  Jean  Noel  will  expect  you  to-morrow  at  four.  Do  not 
be  afraid  to  come."  I  was  rather  surprised  that  she 
should  have  fixed  the  next  day  instead  of  this  one. 
Was  it  not  prolonging  our  anxiety  uselessly?  When 
once  my  note  was  sent  I  felt  an  urgent  need  of  fresh  air, 
and  put  on  my  hat  to  go  out  and  reconnoitre.  On  leav- 
ing the  Grand  Hotel  I  found  myself  in  the  scenery  of 
the  night  before,  but  by  sunlight  it  had  lost  something  of 
its  beauty.  The  little  church,  admirably  situated,  which 
one  reaches  by  a  monumental  flight  of  steps  with  a  double 
turning,  is  of  cast  zinc.  It  looked  as  though  it  had  been 
made  of  sardine  boxes.  In  the  midst  of  this  exquisite 
panorama  it  seems  more  out  of  place  than  it  would 
elsewhere.  Whoever  built  it  could  not  have  had  the 
sense  of  Catholic  worship  nor  any  sense  of  art  whatever. 
The  landscape,  on  the  other  hand,  delighted  me.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this  watering-place  was  in  an  im- 
mense forest  glade.  After  a  few  minutes  I  came  to 
an  avenue  where  the  sunshine  could  not  penetrate.  It 
had  been  pretentiously  named  "  Dante's  Avenue,"  and  it 
leads  to  the  bathing  establishment.  I  felt  at  once,  the  ex- 
quisite quality  of  the  air.  I  opened  my  nostrils  to  ab- 
sorb still  more  of  it.  These  odours  of  larches,  beeches 
and  pines,  did  me  good  instantaneously.  Nature,  at 
times  so  cruel,  can  be  kind.  It  was  so  at  that  moment 
for  me.  It  gave  me  the  perfume  of  its  best  trees,  its  best 
champagne.  Under  its  action  my  chest  expanded,  my 
heart  and  my  step  grew  lighter.  I  came  out  into  a  park, 
at  the  entrance  of  which  were  the  bathing  establishment 
and  a  newly-built  hotel.  I  sat  down  under  the  verandah 
and  took  tea,  looking  anxiously  each  way,  expecting  to 
see  Guy  d'Hauterive  emerge  from  one  avenue  or  another. 


118  ON  THE  BRANCH 

The  sun  disappeared  early  behind  the  wooded  heights, 
and  the  damp  coolness  which  followed  compelled  me  to  go 
back  again.  After  looking  to  see  where  I  was,  I  returned 
by  a  different  path.  It  led  me  to  the  edge  of  the  lake, 
over  a  stone  bridge,  and  from  there  into  the  garden  of 
the  Grand  Hotel,  the  front  of  which  was  still  brilliantly 
lighted. 

I  went  slowly  up  the  wide  steps  and  arrived  on  the 
terrace,  which  was  entirely  deserted  except  for  one  woman 
who  was  lying  back  in  an  armchair.  I  went  a  few  steps 
in  her  direction  and  then  suddenly,  with  a  pang  at  my 
heart  stood  still. 

"Colette!" 

"  Antone ! " 

The  recognition  had  been  simultaneous.  Madame 
d'Hauterive  uttered  my  name  like  an  appeal.  She  made 
an  effort  to  stand  up,  but  fell  back  again.  I  went  to  her 
and  put  my  hand  on  hers. 

"  Here  I  am,"  I  said  to  her. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  murmured. 

I  drew  a  chair  forward  and  sat  down.  Colette's  hair 
was  nearly  white;  she  had  the  livid  pallor  of  a  doomed 
woman ;  lips  without  a  vestige  of  colour !  The  sight  of 
her  caused  the  deepest  pity  in  my  soul. 

"  I  hear,"  I  said,  "  that  the  Bagnoles  waters  have  done 
you  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  Yes,  I  could  not  walk  when  I  arrived.  At  Lourdes 
I  was  looked  upon  as  a  person  on  whom  a  miracle  had 
been  wrought  —  and  I  really  am  now  as  you  are  here," 
she  added,  lowering  her  voice.  "  Shall  we  go  to  my 
rooms  ?  "  she  said,  her  cheeks  flushing  slightly. 

I  nodded  and  she  rose,  not  without  difficulty,  and  with  a 
slow  step  led  me  towards  the  end  of  the  terrace  where 
her  rooms  were  situated.  As  soon  as  we  were  in  her  draw- 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  119 

ing-room  she  turned  towards  me,  gazed  at  me  silently  for 
a  few  seconds  and  then  said  — 

"  You  look  very  well  —  I  am  glad,"  and  instan- 
taneously obeying  one  of  her  irresistible  impulses,  she 
flung  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  clung  to  me.  "  An- 
tone !  forgive  me,  forgive  me !  "  she  repeated,  with  a 
passionate  accent. 

It  had  often  happened  to  her  to  ask  my  forgiveness 
in  this  way,  after  some  fit  of  anger  or  after  unjust  words. 
It  was  a  curious  thing,  but  her  action  made  me  think 
of  her  in  the  old  days  and,  forgetting  her  cruel  offence, 
I  put  my  arms  round  her  and  soothed  her  as  I  used  to  do. 
I  was  living  over  again  a  former  moment  probably.  Am 
I  not  right  in  saying  that  we  are  marvels?  Visibly  ex- 
hausted, she  sank  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and  pointing 
to  a  chair  for  me,  said: 

"  Do  sit  down,  won't  you?  " 

She  was  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  black  taffeta,  all 
trimmed  with  silk  muslin.  It  showed  up  in  relief  her 
head,  which  looked  like  a  cameo,  her  face,  ravaged  by 
disease,  in  which  the  eyes,  so  full  of  intense  light,  shone 
brilliantly. 

"  How  good  you  are !  Have  you  become  a  believer  ?  " 
she  asked  naively. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

An  expression  of  joy  came  over  her  face. 

"  I  am  no  longer  surprised  then,"  she  said. 

"  Life  has  given  me  faith." 

"  Life !  It  has  very  often  nearly  taken  mine  away. 
Oh,  very  often,"  she  added,  bitterly. 

"  Because  you  have  not  studied  it  long  enough." 

"  Perhaps.  Any  way  it  is  surely  God  who  has 
brought  us  together  again,  here.  He  has  condemned  me 
to  die,  so  that  He  certainly  owed  me  that." 

"  To  die !     People  do  not  die  of  an  operation." 


120  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  No,  not  always,"  said  the  poor  woman,  with  a  nerv- 
ous smile.  She  looked  at  me  again,  and  then  con- 
tinued : 

"  And  so  you  are  this  Jean  Noel,  to  whom  I  have  so 
often  been  tempted  to  write.  Fancy  becoming  a  novel- 
ist and  making  a  name  at  your  age!  Nothing  has  ever 
caused  me  such  surprise." 

"  I  am  astonished  at  it  myself,"  I  said. 

"  You  see,"  observed  Colette,  with  a  pathetic  accent, 
"  people  can  do  good  or  bad  things,  of  which  they  would 
have  believed  themselves  incapable." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  And  your  novels  —  they  affected  me  and  moved  me  as 
no  others  ever  did.  Certain  phrases  seemed  to  have  been 
written  for  me !  " 

"  They  perhaps  were,  without  my  being  aware  of  it  — 
Life  is  still  such  a  mystery  to  us." 

Colette  rose  and  went  to  fetch  a  volume  with  a  yellow 
cover  from  the  table.  It  was  my  last  book. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  how  attentively  this  has  been 
read."  She  showed  me  the  pages  turned  down  and 
marked,  and  then,  opening  it  at  a  certain  place,  she 
pointed  out  a  paragraph  to  me.  "  You  really  believe 
that?  "  she  asked  with  an  anxious  look. 

"  Absolutely." 

"  So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better !  Then,  I  can 
tell  you  all." 

An  instinctive  fear  of  further  suffering  dominated  the 
desire,  the  need  I  had  to  know. 

"  Oh,  no  confessions,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  use?  " 

"  To  clear  Guy's  memory,  to  make  me  seem  less  odious. 
You  no  doubt  thought  that  I  exercised  my  damnable 
coquetry  on  your  husband  in  order  to  take  him  from  you, 
and  that  our  liaison  lasted  years  ?  " 

"  Could  I  believe  anything  else  after  reading  that  note 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE 

which  informed  me  that  Guy  was  the  son  of  M.  de 
Myeres?  " 

Colette  flinched. 

"  That  is  true.  Well  we  were  not  as  base  as  we  seemed. 
There  was  no  premeditation  on  either  side.  You  remem- 
ber that  M.  de  Myeres  and  I  were  always  good  comrades. 
We  were  too  familiar  perhaps.  He  had  a  curious  power 
of  rousing  my  spirits.  I  never  did  and  said  so  many 
foolish  things  as  when  he  was  present.  I  amused  him  and 
he  delighted  in  teasing  me.  To  him  and  to  all  of  you 
I  was  only  a  brilliant,  spoiled  creature,  whose  words  and 
deeds  were  not  of  any  consequence.  Did  you  not  nick- 
name me  '  The  Linnet?  '  Well,  a  linnet  can  feel  and 
suffer  all  the  same,"  said  Madame  d'Hauterive,  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile.  "  One  day  at  your  house  at 
Chavigny,  Guy  was  ready  to  go  out  shooting.  He  was 
on  horseback,  just  by  the  stone  steps,  exchanging  some 
gay  farewell  words  with  us.  Impelled  by  I  cannot  tell 
what  nonsense  I  suddenly  put  my  foot  into  his  right 
stirrup  and  said  foolishly,  '  Take  me  with  you.'  *  I'll 
take  you,'  he  answered,  and  bending  down  he  put  his  arm 
round  my  waist,  lifted  me  up  to  his  saddle,  and,  intend- 
ing to  kiss  my  cheek,  touched  the  corner  of  my  mouth, 
and  then  put  me  down  again  on  the  ground.  It  was  all 
done  so  quickly,  with  such  strength  and  dexterity,  that 
you  began  to  clap  your  hands." 

"  I  remember  it,"  I  said,  not  without  a  slight  pang  at 
my  heart. 

"  It  was  the  beginning  of  all  our  trouble  that  you  were 
applauding.  If  you  had  known  that,  how  you  would 
have  grieved !  But  you  did  not  know !  Such  things  are 
what  confound  my  reason  and  shake  my  faith ! " 

"  They  make  things  clearer  tp  me,"  I  said. 

Colette's  hands  moved  about  nervously,  and  she  con- 
tinued — 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  An  Italian  proverb  declares  that  a  kiss  is  never  lost. 
Well,  that  one  was  not.  M.  de  Myeres  had  kissed  me  hun- 
dreds of  times.  What  was  there  in  me,  in  the  atmosphere 
of  that  precise  moment,  for  that  ordinary  kiss  to  impress 
and  affect  me  so  deeply?  I  have  often  wondered.  It 
acted  like  a  poison,  like  a  spell.  The  presence  of  Guy 
began  to  disturb  me.  His  looks,  his  words  made  more 
and  more  impression  on  me.  He  soon  noticed  this 
change  and,  without  any  idea  of  harm,  amused  him- 
self with  playing  on  my  awakened  sensibility.  He  pro- 
voked me,  and  I  defied  him  in  the  most  foolish,  imprudent 
manner.  I  thought  myself  so  thoroughly  protected  by 
my  principles,  by  my  affection  for  Henri,  by  my  friend- 
ship for  you.  The  misfortune  is  that  we  do  not  know 
the  forces  of  Nature,  and  that  we  consider  life  in  too 
ideal  a  way." 

"  What  you  say  is  perfectly  right." 

"  Oh,  I  have  thought  about  all  this  so  much  since," 
said  Colette  with  a  bitter  accent. 

"  Science  will  help  us  to  explain  things,"  I  said. 

"  God  grant  it.  Then,  too,  while  treating  me  as  a 
spoiled  child,  you  all  kept  me  from  taking  myself  se- 
riously. I  did  not  think  this  flirtation  was  dangerous 
either  for  myself  or  for  Guy.  I  reckoned  without  cir- 
cumstances, and  they  betrayed  us  treacherously.  One 
day  in  the  autumn  M.  de  Myeres  came  alone  to  '  Les 
Rocheilles.'  You  had  broken  your  arm,  falling  from 
your  horse,  and  preferred  staying  at  Chavigny." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that  Guy  did  not  want  to  leave  me. 
I  had  to  insist  on  his  starting  alone." 

"  You  see,  you  see,"  said  Madame  d'Hauterive,  rubbing 
her  clasped  hands  together. 

"  I  see,  dear,  that  we  were  always  led." 

"  The  first  week  of  his  visit  we  went  to  spend  an  after- 
noon at  the  Lagnys,  Uncle  Georges,  Aunt  Lucie,  the 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE 

Montbruns,  M.  de  Myeres  and  I.  Henri  was,  of  course 
obliged  to  stay  at  home.  The  weather,  later  on,  was  so 
threatening  that  they  would  not  let  us  start  back.  This 
improvised  night's  lodging  made  us  all  very  gay.  There 
were  only  two  spare  rooms  in  the  Chateau  and  these  were 
given  to  the  Montbruns  so  that  we  were  put  up  in  the 
summer  house  at  the  end  of  the  park.  Uncle  Georges 
and  Aunt  Lucie  were  on  the  first  floor  and  Guy  and  I 
had  the  two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  — " 

Here  Colette  stopped.  Waves  of  emotion  passed  over 
her  face  and  her  lips  moved  without  being  able  to  utter  a 
word. 

"  And  it  was  there  ?  "  I  said,  with  all  the  pity  of  a  con- 
fessor. 

My  cousin  bowed  her  head. 

"  It  was  there,"  she  continued  in  a  hollow  voice. 
"  And  everything  led  up  to  it,  an  exciting  game  at 
poker,  the  champagne,  the  storm  which  broke  with 
extraordinary  violence,  many  other  things,  too,  no  doubt, 
for  I  was  not  really  bad,  was  I  ?  "  she  asked  with  a 
pathetic  accent. 

"  Certainly  not,  but  there  were  dangerous  elements  in 
you." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  them.  When  I  go  beck  to  that 
time  it  seems  to  me  that  I  was  an  absolute  baby.  My 
parents  had  married  me  very  well,  I  must  own,  but  my 
kind,  handsome  Henri  had  never  been  able  to  inspire  me 
with  anything  but  a  great  friendship.  I  had  always 
needed  emotion  and  excitement,  I  wanted  to  feel  that  I  was 
living.  Instinctively,  perhaps,  I  sought  for  love  as  all 
human  creatures  do.  To  some  it  is  granted,  to  others 
forbidden.  Why  is  this  ?  Ah,  how  many  of  these  Whys 
I  have  asked  in  my  life !  "  said  Colette  with  something 
of  her  old  drollery.  "  I  talk  of  love,  but  Guy  never  loved 
me !  He  did  not  take  me  seriously  any  more  than  all  of 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

you  did.  He  blamed  me  for  having  tempted  him  to 
deceive  you." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  that.  A  weak  man  always 
throws  the  blame  on  others  for  his  own  faults  or  fail- 
ures," I  answered,  with  involuntary  anger. 

"  His  indifference  exasperated  me,  his  visible  remorse 
provoked  my  wrath.  What  a  pair  of  lovers  we  were !  " 
said  Madame  d'Hauterive  with  irony.  "  In  your  first 
novel  you  described  the  sufferings  of  the  mistress.  How 
could  you  imagine  all  that,  you  who  were  the  wife?  " 

"  By  intuition  probably." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  have  experienced  them.  Six  months 
after  Guy's  birth,  a  cruel  scene,  provoked  no  doubt 
purposely  by  M.  de  Myeres,  gave  me  the  courage  to 
break  off  with  him.  He  went  away  to  Algeria  with  you. 
I  persuaded  Henri  to  leave  Paris  altogether  and  I  took  up 
my  abode  at  *  Les  Rocheilles.'  I  should  have  eaten  my 
heart  out  with  remorse  and  dullness  if  Providence  had  not 
sent  me  a  wonderful  priest,  a  man  who  understood  human 
nature,  a  healer  of  souls.  He  neither  insisted  on  peni- 
tence nor  on  prayers  for  me,  but  he  made  me  turn  my 
thoughts  away  from  myself  and  think  of  others.  He 
helped  me  by  opening  my  eyes  to  the  ignorance  of  our 
peasants,  to  the  want  of  hygiene  and  cleanliness  which 
ruins  our  country  places.  Under  his  guidance  I  began, 
in  our  neighbourhood,  a  work  of  civilisation  which  inter- 
ested me  all  the  time  more  and  more  passionately.  I  be- 
came that  modern  lady  of  the  manor,  about  whom  you 
were  always  joking.  This  new  phase  which  you  called 
'  Colette's  conversion '  was  in  reality  Colette's  expiation. 
You  have  the  key  now  to  my  apparent  oddities,  to  the  un- 
certainty of  my  welcome,  to  my  manner  towards  your 
husband.  His  presence  was  for  a  long  time  intolerable 
to  me.  He  did  his  utmost  to  avoid  coming.  The  differ- 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  125 

ence  of  political  opinions  between  him  and  Henri  created 
a  coolness  between  them  which  made  things  more  easy. 
My  love  was  over  but  not  my  remorse  and  the  existence  of 
Guy  made  this  very  keen.  Ah,  you  see,  they  always  talk 
to  a  woman  of  purity,  but  never  of  honour.  She  is 
taught  nothing  of  what  she  ought  to  know.  If  she  were 
impressed  with  the  idea  that  she  is  responsible  to  the 
world  at  large  for  the  integrity  of  race,  she  would  feel 
greater,  more  sacred,  she  would  not  make  herself  so 
cheap." 

"  You  are  right ;  she  is  not  yet  conscious  of  what  she  is 
in  Nature,  of  what  she  might  be  in  Life." 

"  M.  de  Myeres  adored  the  child,"  continued  Madame 
d'Hauterive,  in  a  broken  voice.  "  He  often  begged  me 
to  bring  the  boy  to  see  him.  I  dared  not  refuse.  Be- 
fore he  was  taken  ill  he  had  written  to  me  to  ask  this  with 
a  curious  urgency  that  was  perhaps  a  presentiment. 
When  writing  to  tell  him  of  my  arrival  at  the  Hotel  V — 
I  asked  him  to  be  more  careful  of  what  he  said,  adding 
that  he  had  terrified  me  the  last  time  he  had  paid  me  a 
visit,  and  that  the  child,  who  was  very  precocious  might 
remember  his  words  later  on.  ...  If  you  remem- 
ber, there  was  not  a  word  of  love  in  that  note." 

"  That  is  true,  but  I  saw  nothing  in  it  but  the  one  bare 
fact." 

"  That  fact,"  repeated  Madame  d'Hauterive.  "  Oh, 
Antone,  I  am  surprised  that  that  revelation  did  not  kill 
you  on  the  spot." 

"  My  task  was  not  accomplished,  probably.  But  how- 
did  you  know  of  the  death  of  M.  de  Myeres?  I  never 
understood  that." 

"As  he  did  not  appear  at  the  time  appointed,  I  sent  the 
page  from  the  Hotel  V —  to  ask  at  the  Club  if  he  were 
away,  and  there  he  was  told  what  had  happened.  I 


126  ON  THE  BRANCH 

hurried  to  you,  and  you  remember  the  rest.  If  you  had 
granted  me  the  interview  for  which  I  have  asked  for 
five  years  you  would  have  suffered  less." 

"  No,  for  I  was  not  ready  to  listen  to  you." 

Colette  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  that  was  sud- 
denly anxious,  her  eyes  filled  with  distress,  and  her  lips 
quivered  nervously. 

"  Antone,"  she  said,  in  a  muffled  voice,  "  Guy  is  here 
with  me." 

"  I  know,"  I  replied  tranquilly,  "  I  saw  him  this  morn- 
ing." 

•"  You  recognised  him !  "  exclaimed  Madame  d'Haute- 
rive,  her  eyes  growing  larger  with  terror. 

I  nodded. 

"  And  you  are  here?  " 

"  I  am  here  by  the  will  of  Providence.  It  has  taken 
fifteen  years  to  bring  me  here." 

"  That  is  true,"  murmured  Colette. 

"  Providence  works  slowly,  but  surely.  To-day  I 
know  that  we  have  both  lived  out  our  destinies.  It  is  not 
for  me  to  judge  your  responsibility.  In  all  that  you 
have  confessed  to  me  I  only  distinguish  the  action  of  a 
higher  force  and  I  see  that  transmutation  of  evil  into 
good  which  always  has  to  take  place  here  or  elsewhere. 
Without  all  this  you  would  have  remained  a  frivolous, 
useless  woman.  Your  repentance  put  into  activity  qual- 
ities which  no  one  suspected.  Have  you  not  accom- 
plished miracles  for  ten  miles  round  '  Les  Rocheilles  '  ? 
As  for  me,  if  I  had  not  been  uprooted,  I  should  have 
vegetated  in  a  small  flat  in  Paris,  I  should  have  grown 
old  in  a  poor  way." 

"  And  you  would  not  have  become  Jean  Noel." 

"  The  world  would  not  have  lost  anything  by  that,  but 
I  should  not  have  known  the  joy  of  intellectual  work, 
I  should  not  have  acquired  the  understanding  of  Life 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  127 

which  is  priceless.  I  consider  that  your  trial  nas  been 
greater  than  mine." 

"  Hasn't  it,  oh,  hasn't  it?  "  said  Madame  d'Hauterive 
eagerly. 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  a  footstep  on  the  terrace 
caught  our  ears,  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  poignant  silence 
which  it  caused,  Guy  d'Hauterive  appeared  on  the  step  of 
the  French  window.  Colette's  eyelids  drooped  with 
shame,  a  wave  of  pale  blood  rushed  to  her  face.  That 
second  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  cruel  in  her  life. 
The  young  man  gazed  at  me  an  instant. 

"  Madame  de  Myeres,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  recognise 
you." 

His  voice,  too,  the  voice  that  had  been  mute  fifteen 
years ! 

"  You  recognise  me  because  you  knew  that  I  was  to  ar- 
rive, probably,"  I  said,  with  a  desperate  effort  to  govern 
my  emotion. 

"  No,  no,  there  is  a  portrait  of  you  at  '  Les  Ro- 
cheilles '  in  Uncle  Georges'  study,  and  then,  too,  you 
gave  me  too  many  sweets  and  playthings  for  me  to  have 
been  able  to  forget  you.  I  have  often  asked  for  you, 
have  I  not,  Mother?  " 

"  Yes,  really,"  answered  Colette. 

"  Later  on  I  was  told  that  there  had  been  some  dis- 
agreements, some  family  quarrel,  and  that  you  were  trav- 
elling. You  would  never  have  recognised  me,  though, 
would  you  ?  " 

Not  recognised  him  —  good  Heavens ! 

"  To  recognise  a  child  of  ten  years  old  in  a  grown-up 
man  is  more  difficult,"  I  said. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  answered  Guy  with  a  flash  of 
pride,  as  he  drew  up  an  armchair  and  put  it  near  mine. 

"  And  so  you  are  Jean  Noel !  Do  you  know  I  took 
jour  first  novel  to  *  Les  Rocheilles ! '  It  caused  endless 


128  ON  THE  BRANCH 

discussions  there.  No  one  agreed  about  the  sex  of  the 
author.  We  little  thought  he  belonged  to  the  family. 
And  it  was  at  Bagnoles  of  all  places  in  the  world  that  we 
were  to  learn  his  real  name  and  our  relationship  to  him. 
I  never  saw  mother  so  excited.  By-the-bye,  I  hope  you 
have  made  peace?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  made  a  long  time  ago  if  I  had  not 
been  living  as  a  nomad  and  rather  as  an  egotist." 

"  Well,  you  are  captured  again  by  the  family  now. 
We  shall  not  let  you  escape,  and  I  fancy  that  we  shall 
become  friends,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

My  heart  stopped  beating  —  M.  de  Myeres'  smile,  too ! 

"  All  things  are  possible,"  I  stammered. 

Under  this  light  talk  there  was  such  a  current  of  pain- 
ful sensations  and  grievous  memories  that  the  very  air 
became  suffocating.  I  rose,  and  Colette  followed  my  ex- 
ample. 

"  Oh,  Madame  de  Myeres,"  exclaimed  Guy,  "  do  stay 
a  little  longer.  Let  me  see  you  at  least !  " 

"  To-morrow  we  shall  see  each  other,"  I  replied  hast- 
ily. 

"  To-morrow,  no I'm  leaving  for  Houlgate.  I 

shall  be  away  for  two  or  three  days,"  he  said,  with  a  shade 
of  embarrassment.  "  Mother  is  so  well  that  I  have  no 
scruples  about  leaving  her,  and  now  that  you  are  here  I 
shall  go  away  feeling  quite  at  ease." 

"  You  may,"  I  said. 

"  When  I  come  back  we  will  have  a  talk,  won't  we  ?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  I  was  obliged  to  give  him 
mine.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  that  kiss  entered  into 
me  and  produced  a  wave  of  exquisite  suffering  which 
made  me  shudder.  I  met  Colette's  eyes.  They  were  so 
full  of  mute  supplication  that,  spontaneously,  I  put  my 
arms  round  her  neck,  and  my  cheek  against  hers  — 
one  of  our  old  embraces. 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  129 

"  The  worst  is  over,"  I  whispered  to  her  and  then 
aloud  I  added,  "  Good-bye  —  till  to-morrow." 

In  spite  of  my  protestations  Guy  insisted  on  accom- 
panying me  to  the  lift.  I  arrived  in  my  own  rooms, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  like  a  horse  which,  under 
the  master's  spur  has  just  cleared  a  dreaded  obstacle. 


Bagnoles-de-VOrne. 

My  cousin's  confession  has  had  a  curious  effect  on  me. 
It  was  a  sort  of  gauge,  and  I  am  not  precisely  proud  of 
the  results.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  to 
learn  that  her  liaison  with  M.  de  Myeres  was  only  of 
short  duration.  My  vanity  now  suffers  less,  and  at  times 
I  feel  almost  joyous.  But  then,  I  hear  her  words  again  — 
"  All  things  led  up  to  it,  an  exciting  game  of  poker,  the 
champagne,  the  storm  which  burst  with  extraordinary 
force.  .  .  . !  "  and  I  see  her,  frightened,  clinging  to 
him.  I  see  him  putting  his  arms  round  her,  holding  her 
there  —  oh,  of  course  he  held  her  there,  I  see  this  — 
I  see  it  with  that  power  of  vision  which  Jean  Noel 
has  acquired,  and  a  whirlwind  of  anger  overturns 
everything  within  my  soul.  I  do  not  bear  her  any 
grudge  —  not  her,  but  him.  And  then  that  resemblance. 
Near  to,  it  is  perhaps  less  striking.  The  large  fore- 
head, the  nose,  the  chin  remind  me  of  my  cousin's  father, 
but  the  brown  hair,  the  tawny  moustache,  the  shadow 
which  softens  the  corner  of  the  blue  eyes,  the  delicate, 
sensual  mouth,  the  smile,  the  height !  All  that  is  M.  de 
Myeres.  Is  not  love  necessary,  real  love,  in  order  to  be 
reproduced  like  this?  I  wondered,  and  a  painful  blush 
rose  to  my  face.  All  through  life,  here  below,  the  hu- 
man creature  makes  efforts  to  stand  upright  morally. 
Some  die  without  having  succeeded.  I  have  certainly 
just  fallen  down  again  on  all  fours  and  it  is  this  wretched 


130  ON  THE  BRANCH 

femininity  which  has  caused  me  to  do  so.  No  matter,  I 
will  stand  up  again.  Up  —  up !  Sursum  corda! 

Yesterday  and  to-day  I  spent  part  of  the  afternoon 
with  Colette  on  the  terrace  of  the  hotel.  Poor  woman! 
Her  blood,  formerly  so  rich,  appears  to  be  irremediably 
impoverished,  her  splendid  vitality  destroyed  for  ever. 
As  she  now  is,  in  her  suffering  and  affliction,  she  ap- 
pears to  me  more  interesting  than  formerly.  Her  charm 
has  not  left  her,  and  her  languid  movements  have  retained 
their  grace.  With  her  dress  of  black  silk  muslin,  en- 
tirely pleated  and  loose  in  front,  her  pearl  necklace 
and  an  elegant  mantle  thrown  over  her  shoulders  she  is 
delicious.  I  told  her  so  and  the  compliment  brought  an 
expression  of  pleasure  to  her  face. 

"  A  grey  linnet,  you  see,"  she  said  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  touching  her  beautiful,  wavy  hair. 

In  these  first  days  of  our  meeting  again  the  absence  of 
Guy  was  a  relief  to  both  of  us.  Conversation  was  rather 
difficult  to  us.  We  had  so  much  to  say,  and  we  did  not 
know  where  to  begin.  Then,  afterwards,  we  felt  our- 
selves so  far,  so  very  far  away  from  each  other.  At 
times  we  just  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking,  as- 
tonished at  having  become  strangers.  The  threads 
of  our  lives  seemed  as  though  they  could  not  join  again 
across  the  weavings  of  these  last  fifteen  years,  and  then, 
imperceptibly,  the  marvellous  work  was  suddenly  ac- 
complished. Colette  spoke  to  me  with  deep  feeling  about 
the  death  of  her  husband,  about  her  sorrow.  She  has 
been  a  widow  three  years.  Henri  and  his  brother 
Georges,  the  d'Hauterive  twins,  as  they  were  called,  had 
never  been  separated.  The  latter  has  consecrated  his 
life,  his  science,  to  the  improvement  of  the  family  domain. 
He  is  at  worV  there  still,  with  the  help  of  an  experienced 
cultivator.  Robert,  my  cousin's  eldest  son,  is  a  brilliant 
cavalry  officer.  §he  hopes  that  later  on  he  will  be  lord 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  131 

of  the  manor  at  "  Les  Rocheilles  "  and  will  continue 
there  the  work  of  his  father  and  uncle.  Colette's 
confidences  concerning  the  family  stopped  there.  I  felt 
that  she  did  not  dare  to  mention  Guy.  I  had  a  curious 
desire  to  know  something  about  him,  about  his  char- 
acter, and  I  brought  him  into  the  conversation.  The 
mother  gave  me  a  touching  look  of  thanks. 

"  Up  to  the  present,  everything  has  been  right  with 
him,"  she  said,  in  rather  a  muffled  voice.  "  He  passed 
his  examinations  brilliantly.  After  his  military  service 
he  went  for  a  voyage  of  eighteen  months  round  the 
world,  and  he  stayed  for  a  year  at  the  Pinharas.  He 
is  now  attending  the  lectures  of  the  Grignon  school  for 
the  pure  love  of  it.  My  dream  for  him  is  some  big 
agricultural  enterprise,  either  in  France  or  in  Tunis. 
He  came  into  the  entire  fortune  of  his  godmother,  but 
until  he  is  thirty  can  only  receive  half  of  his  income. 
He  is  so  well  provided  for  that  he  could  leave  '  Les  Ro- 
cheilles '  for  his  brother,"  added  Madame  d'Hauterive, 
blushing  slightly,  "  and  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  he  will 
do  it." 

I  understood  that  this  arrangement  would  lighten  her 
conscience. 

"  Is  he  good  to  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

Colette's  face  lighted  up  with  affection. 

"  He  is  perfect.  A  daughter  could  not  have  more  care 
and  forethought." 

"  He  looks  intelligent." 

"  He  is,  oh  yes,  he  is,  and  so  brave  and  strong." 

"  He  has  your  father's  square  chin." 

"  Yes,  you  noticed  that?  It  is  just  what  consoles  me. 
He  won't  be  weak !  "  added  the  poor  woman  with  an  ex> 
pression  of  pride. 

By  tacit  accord  we  went  quickly  back  over  the  inter- 
vening years  to  our  young  days.  When  once  there  we 


132  ON  THE  BRANCH 

were  ourselves  again.  A  crowd  of  pleasant  memories, 
stored  I  know  not  where,  awoke  one  after  the  other  and 
chased  away  the  phantom  which  was  between  us.  With 
that  faculty  of  duality  which  I  have  acquired  whilst 
Madame  de  Myeres  talked,  Jean  Noel  saw  the  amphi- 
theatre of  verdure,  the  lake  streaked  with  light,  the  white 
terrace  shaded  by  a  group  of  trees  and  in  the  midst  of 
this  scenery  of  harmonious  melancholy,  two  elderly 
women,  meeting  again  after  fifteen  years  of  separation, 
going  along  slowly  evoking  the  past  and  drawing  from  it 
a  moment's  joy  and  oblivion.  The  novelist  took  into 
account  the  time  and  the  forces  which  this  little  human 
scene  represented,  and  was  once  more  struck  with  ad- 
miration at  the  work  of  the  Master. 

"  Oh,  we  were  wholesome  good  little  creatures,"  added 
Colette,  after  turning  over  one  or  two  pages  of  our  girl- 
hood. 

"  Rather  alarming,  all  the  same,  with  our  precocious 
coquetry.  Wasn't  it  you  who  first  had  the  intuition  of 
the  ugliness  of  our  underclothes  in  those  days,  and  or- 
ganised the  revolution  in  chemises?  " 

"  The  revolution  in  chemises  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  One  fine  day  you  took  it  into  your 
head,  standing  at  your  glass,  no  doubt,  that  they  were 
frightful.  You  proposed  to  me  that  the  sleeves  should 
be  suppressed  and  that  they  should  be  shortened.  You 
may  claim  for  yourself  the  idea  of  the  transformation 
.which  was  doomed  to  take  place  later  on.  We  carried 
it  out  in  secret  and  were  delighted  at  the  effect.  In 
spite  of  our  precautions  for  delaying  the  discovery  of  our 
experiment,  your  fond  mother  found  our  new  specimen 
in  your  chest  of  drawers.  I  was  present  and  I  remem- 
ber her  asking  the  maid  what  it  was.  *  Mademoiselle's 
underlinen  '  said  Fran9oise.  '  That ! '  exclaimed  your 
mother,  with  an  expression  which  still  makes  me  laugh 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  133 

when  I  think  of  it.  She  held  the  garment  up  between 
her  fingers  and  thumb  and  turning  to  me,  asked:  '  Can 
you  explain  this  to  me  ?  '  '  Yes,  aunt,'  I  said,  '  Colette 
and  I  want  to  alter  our  underlinen.  All  the  garments 
are  so  hideous  and  make  us  look  so  unpoetical.'  The 
words  appeared  so  comic  to  your  mother  that  her  anger 
gave  way,  but  we  were  lectured  all  the  same  and  for- 
bidden ever  to  touch  our  trousseaux  again." 

Colette  laughed  heartily. 

"  Oh,  I  remember,  I  remember,"  she  said.  "  But  you, 
too,  did  not  want  to  look  '  unpoetical.'  How  often 
you  reproached  your  poor  aunt  for  putting  you  into  a 
yellow  bed-jacket  when  you  had  measles.  I  wonder  how 
it  came  about  that  two  provincial  girls,  such  as 
we  were,  should  have  felt  this  need  of  elegance.  You 
tied  ribbons  everywhere,  and  you  were  always  moving 
the  furniture  about  in  your  bed-room.  The  carpet 
squares  that  used  to  be  put  before  each  chair  in  the 
drawing  room  made  your  hair  stand  on  end.  One  day, 
when  they  had  been  imprudent  enough  to  take  us  to 
the  house  of  an  old  lady,  you  began  to  push  all  these 
little  carpets  under  the  chairs  and  armchairs  with  your 
feet.  I  followed  your  example  and  in  no  time  the 
polished  floor  was  bare.  The  lady  of  the  house  was 
half  blind  and  did  not  notice  what  we  were  doing,  but 
your  mother  had  seen  and  all  the  way  home  we  were 
scolded.  There's  no  denying  it,  we  were  two  born  mod- 
ernists. You  have  kept  up  with  the  movement  of  the 
times." 

"  Thank  God,  I  have.  I  am  as  interested  in  the 
progress  of  science,  in  discoveries,  in  the  future  of  the 
world,  as  though  I  were  to  live  in  it  for  centuries.  The 
day  when  my  skiff  will  no  longer  be  able  to  follow,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  go  away." 

My  cousin  reminded  me  of  the  garret  where  we  spent 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

rainy  days,  the  dear  garret  full  of  odd  things.  There 
was  old  furniture  with  which  we  made  drawing-rooms 
and  there  was  a  certain  cedar-wood  chest  containing  our 
great-grandmother's  dresses,  which  we  put  on  when  we 
were  acting. 

"  Acting  was  your  strong  point,"  added  Colette. 
"  When  I  think  of  the  stories  you  invented,  the  adven- 
tures you  arranged  for  your  favourite  hero,  Robinson 
Crusoe,  I  ought  not  to  be  surprised  that  you  should 
have  become  a  novelist.  Jean  Noel  existed  then  within 
you." 

"  He  had  probably  existed  a  long  time.  How  I  did 
dream  of  big  voyages,  of  freedom !  I  used  to  go  and 
stand  in  front  of  the  gipsies'  caravans,  hoping  to  be 
stolen.  Gaillard's  stage-coach  from  Paris  to  Geneva,  fas- 
cinated me;  I  used  to  escape,  so  that  I  could  watch  the 
horses  being  changed.  No  one  ever  suspected  how 
tempted  I  was  to  creep  under  the  seats.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  coach  must  be  taking  the  people  to  won- 
derful countries.  I  have  now  been  these  long  voyages, 
I  have  the  liberty  I  wanted,  my  trunk  takes  no  longer 
to  pack  than  a  tent  to  fold.  You  see,  I  fancy  that  we 
come  into  the  world  with  our  brains  ready  for  our 
respective  destinies.  We  begin  to  live  our  destinies 
instinctively  by  our  pronounced  tastes,  our  aspirations, 
our  desires,  and  then  the  vocation  becomes  evident.  The 
future  sometimes  affects  us.  We  can  feel  and  suffer 
beforehand." 

Madame  d'Hauterive  suddenly  appeared  troubled ;  she 
looked  at  me,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  to  the  brim  and 
the  tears  made  her  more  beautiful,  as  in  the  olden  days. 

"  It  was  that  then !  "  she  murmured. 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked,  surprised. 

"  One  day  you  rushed  into  my  father's  study  with 
your  doll  in  your  arms  crying  out :  '  Monsieur,  Mon- 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  135 

sieur  a  wicked  woman  has  stolen  my  husband ! '  It  was 
only  in  play,  but  suddenly  you  began  to  sob,  and  we  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  to  calm  you.  Antone,  I  was  that 
wicked  woman !  " 

I  laid  my  hand  affectionately  on  my  cousin's. 

"  Well  then,"  I  said,  "  that  episode  which  I  had  for- 
gotten, absolves  you  once  more." 

"  Life  is  cruel,  abominable ! "  exclaimed  Madame 
d'Hauterive.  "  I  understood,  later  on,  your  rebellion 
against  it." 

"  The  rebellion  of  an  ignorant  person,"  said  I,  smil- 
ing. "  Oh,  I  am  not  proud  of  all  that.  One  of  our 
old  Marianne's  speeches  has  often  come  back  to  my 
mind.  One  day  on  hearing  me  repeat  my  usual  re- 
mark '  If  I  were  God  I  would  do  this  or  that,'  she  gave 
a  mocking  wink  and  said  '  You  are  not  bad-natured, 
Mademoiselle,  but  I  would  rather  be  in  God's  hands 
than  in  yours ! '  And  she  was  quite  right." 

"  In  spite  of  your  optimism,"  observed  Colette,  "  you 
cannot  deny  that  there  are  in  the  world  claws,  teeth, 
poisons,  microbes,  nameless  horrors." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  pain,  I  know,"  I  answered. 
"  My  heart  is  constantly  bleeding  for  one  or  another. 
But  I  have  acquired  the  conviction  that  the  shoulders 
are  fashioned  for  each  burden,  and  that  suffering  is 
necessary." 

"Suffering  necessary?  You  believe  that?"  asked 
Madame  d'Hauterive. 

"Absolutely.  In  my  novels,  for  instance,  it  was  not 
possible  to  have  anything  great  without  that.  In  order 
to  bring  my  heroes  to  give  their  full  measure  I  often 
had  to  put  their  souls  under  the  pressure  of  inferior 
forces,  to  make  use  of  envy,  ingratitude,  passion  of  all 
kinds,  of  evil  sentiments  and  I  then  obtained  splendid 
moral  reactions.  One  day  I  was  fascinated  by  the  work 


136  ON  THE  BRANCH 

of  a  painter  struggling  with  the  red  of  a  woman's  hair. 
On  his  palette  he  had  black,  red,  green  and  ochre  and 
he  was  dipping  his  brush  in,  delicately,  as  though  at 
hazard.  I  guessed  there  would  be  a  secret  and  violent 
battle  between  these  various  tones  of  colour  and  then 
gradually,  I  do  not  know  by  what  magic,  and  the  artist 
himself  confessed  to  me  that  he  did  not  know,  the 
colours  blended  and  the  beautiful  shade  exactly,  lighted 
up  the  canvas.  The  right  colour  had  come.  This  is 
how  Nature  proceeds,  I  suppose,  in  order  to  arrive  at 
harmony.  This  is  how  she  works.  She  has  all  eternity, 
and  so  have  we,  too,  so  that  some  day  all  will  be  right." 

"  What  things  you  have  learnt,"  said  Colette,  with 
an  expression  of  astonishment. 

"  I  had  to  learn  a  great  deal  in  order  to  acquire 
faith." 

At  that  moment  a  telegram  was  brought  to  my  cousin. 
On  reading  it  her  lips  contracted  slightly. 

"  From  Guy,"  she  said ;  "  he  asks  if  he  may  stay 
until  Saturday.  They  are  all  the  same.  And  I  boasted 
to  you  of  his  strength  of  character.  He  is  kept  at 
Houlgate  by  a  woman  with  whom  he  has  been  passion- 
ately in  love  for  the  last  two  years,  a  society  woman, 
I  suppose.  I  detest  her.  Anyhow  I  am  sure  I  shall 
detest  my  daughter-in-law." 

"  Oh  Colette !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Mothers  are  jealous,  too,  I  fancy." 

"  That's  the  misfortune.  Bishop  Mermillod,  of 
Geneva,  told  me  one  day  that  he  was  constantly  sur- 
prised to  see  good  Christian  women,  of  great  piety,  be- 
come the  desperate  enemies  of  their  daughters-in-law, 
and  lose  all  sense  of  justice.  I  explained  to  him  that 
it  was  a  sex- jealousy.  He  was  quite  struck  by  this 
idea,  but  on  reflection  he  acknowledged  that  I  was  right." 

"  A  sex- jealousy !     Impossible !  " 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  137 

"  Why,  no,  my  poor  dear.  With  a  woman,  love  is 
only  maternity  in  flower,  and  maternity  love  in  fruit." 

"  Then  it  is  Nature  that  is  guilty.  Oh  I  do  owe  it 
a  grudge  then." 

I  began  to  laugh. 

"  You  are  wrong,  for  Nature  always  places  the  rem- 
edy beside  the  evil.  In  maternity,  for  instance,  there 
is  abnegation,  there  is  devotion.  To  wish  for,  the  wel- 
fare of  one's  child  is  an  ordinary  sentiment;  we  ought 
to  arrive  at  wishing  for  it  by  means,  if  need  be,  of 
another  person.  I  have  such  faith  in  the  progress  of 
humanity  that  I  am  persuaded  there  will  some  day  be 
good  mothers-in-law  on  this  world's  stage." 

"  Ah,  Antone,  how  changed  you  are." 

"  I  hope  I  am." 

"  It  is  not  only  to  give  me  peace  again  that  God 
has  brought  you  here.  It  is  so  that  you  may  communi- 
cate to  me  a  little  of  the  strength  and  the  wisdom  that 
you  have  acquired." 

We  were  walking,  and  I  took  Colette's  arm,  drew 
it  through  mine,  and  we  talked  until  sunset.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  have  transmitted  to  her  any  strength, 
as  she  says,  but  for  my  part,  I  took  away  with  me  a 
deep  joy  which  went  straight  to  the  right  place.  I 
fancy  that  something  very  fine  took  place  on  that  ter- 
race of  the  Grand  Hotel  of  Bagnoles. 

Bagnoles-de-VOrne. 

Guy  returned  from  Houlgate  visibly  happy.  In  his 
eyes  and  round  his  lips  there  was  a  beautiful  vibrating 
light;  in  his  voice  there  were  notes  of  triumph.  This 
caused  me  an  incomprehensible  irritation.  Under  the 
impulsion  of  his  inward  joy  he  was  ridiculously  tender 
to  his  mother  and  to  me.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
keep  him  at  a  distance  but  this  was  not  easy.  The 


138  ON  THE  BRANCH 

dominating  force  that  he  has  inherited  from  his  father 
nearly  always  gets  the  better  of  my  will.  He  felt  my 
resistance  and  this  urged  him  on.  He  has  resolved  to 
take  possession  of  me  in  the  name  of  the  family.  He 
does  not  pay  any  attention  to  my  coldness,  but  my 
abruptness  astonishes  him,  nevertheless,  at  times.  He 
raises  his  eyebrows,  looks  at  me  intently,  and  then  the 
irresistible  smile  reappears  on  his  lips,  and  I  am  softened 
again  as  by  a  miracle.  The  idea  occurred  to  him  to 
call  me  "  god-mother,"  and  Colette,  uneasy  in  her  mind, 
remonstrated  with  him  at  once. 

"  I  must  call  her  something,  though,"  he  answered 
gaily.  "  Cousin  is  ridiculous,  and  Madame  de  Myeres 
too  solemn.  You  would  be  jealous  if  I  called  her  mother. 
Besides,  the  name  really  belongs  to  her,  as  she  was  the 
wife  of  my  god-father." 

We  could  not  say  anything  in  reply.  The  things 
that  are  the  most  difficult  for  me  to  endure  are  the 
ironies  of  fate.  They  always  exasperate  me.  This  one 
is  most  disagreeable  to  me.  My  pen  has  just  stopped, 
as  it  does  when  I  am  not  quite  frank  with  myself.  Is 
it  really  disagreeable  to  me? 

The  day  after  his  return  Guy  came  up  to  call  on  me. 
After  a  sharp,  light  knock  he  entered  the  room,  as 
though  he  were  at  home.  The  small  and  rather  low- 
ceilinged  sitting-room  put  in  such  striking  relief  the 
resemblance  of  his  tall  figure  with  that  of  my  husband 
that  I  was  overcome  by  it. 

"  And  so  here  I  am  at  Jean  Noel's,"  he  said,  laughing, 
but  with  some  feeling.  "  Isn't  it  amusing?  " 

"  Tragically  amusing,  yes,"  I  thought.  He  looked 
round  him  with  curiosity,  read  the  titles  of  my  books, 
examined  my  photographs,  among  which  he  recognised 
those  of  two  of  my  heroines,  was  amused  at  my  gris-gris, 
threw  a  kiss  to  my  "  Victory  of  Samothrace,"  touched 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  139 

everything  like  a  badly  brought-up  boy,  but  with  a 
familiarity  in  which  there  was  tenderness  and  respect. 
And  I  watched  him  without  saying  anything,  deeply 
moved,  troubled,  protesting  inwardly  against  this  some- 
thing of  M.  de  Myeres  which  was  entering  my  life  again. 

"  One  feels  all  right  here,"  he  said,  sitting  down  at 
my  writing-table,  "  just  as  one  does  everywhere  where 
people  think  and  work  —  I  have  discovered  that." 

"  A  discovery  that  does  you  honour,"  I  said,  sud- 
denly softened. 

"  Doesn't  it  ?     Oh  you  see  I  am  not  a  bad  sort." 

"  I  hope  not,  for  your  mother's  sake." 

"  Where  is  my  god-father's  portrait?  "  he  asked,  just 
as  he  was  going  away. 

"  Somewhere  else,"  I  replied,  brusquely. 

"  That's  just  it.  With  a  woman  the  portrait  she 
does  not  show  is  the  only  one  that  counts." 

"  You  know  a  great  deal  about  women,"  I  said,  in 
a  mocking  tone. 

I  was  standing  up.  He  put  his  hands  on  my  shoul- 
ders. 

"  I  know  enough,  god-mother,  to  be  aware  that  you 
are  the  right  sort." 

These  words  fell  like  a  drop  of  oil  on  my  rancour. 
Several  times  since  they  have  come  back  to  my  ears, 
causing  me  a  pleasure  of  which  I  am  ashamed.  What 
subtle  art  there  is  in  our  complexity !  Guy  confided 
to  me  his  anxiety  about  his  mother.  He  loves  her  pas- 
sionately and  he  wants  to  be  reassured  all  the  time 
as  regards  the  probable  result  of  the  operation  to  which 
she  is  doomed.  This  filial  anguish,  even  in  the  son 
of  M.  de  Myeres,  touches  me,  and  I  do  my  utmost  to 
chase  it  away.  The  strange  god-son  that  Providence 
has  given  me  monopolises  me  more  and  more.  When 
he  sees  me  starting  on  my  way  to  take  the  waters  in 


140  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  afternoon,  he  leaves  everything,  comes  to  me  and 
accompanies  me  there.  He  goes  and  fetches  my  glass 
of  water,  sits  down  beside  me,  and  then  brings  me  back 
through  the  forest  by  the  longest  road.  I  often  try 
to  escape  him,  and  once  he  noticed  this. 

"  I  believe  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  god-mother," 
he  said,  with  a  reproachful  look,  "  do  I  bore  you?  "  and 
out  of  politeness  I  had  to  protest. 

The  other  day  when  we  were  walking  along  he  wanted 
to  tell  me  something  and  he  suddenly  put  his  arm  through 
mine  and  pressed  it  firmly.  I  had  a  violent  pang  at 
my  heart  and  my  body  recoiled  instinctively.  This 
gesture  of  affection  and  confidence  had  been  peculiar  to 
my  husband.  He  had  walked  like  this  with  me  miles 
and  miles  on  the  terrace  of  Chavigny.  As  I  thought 
of  him  I  suddenly  saw  his  shadow  appear  at  my  side,  his 
elegant  and  distinguished  outline  lengthen  out  on  the 
road.  His  outline?  Ah,  no,  that  of  his  son,  but  so 
similar,  so  cruelly  similar.  My  eyes  were  rivetted  on 
it  with  a  mixture  of  love  and  hate,  of  happiness  and 
grief.  It  was  poignant  and  exquisite.  Most  certainly 
Jean  Noel  could  never  have  imagined  anything  like 
that. 

Bagnoles-de-l  'Orne. 

My  first  automobile  excursion,  with  Guy  as  driver! 
How  strange  my  life  is  becoming.  I  was  imprudent 
enough  to  express  before  him  the  desire  I  had  to  try 
the  new  method  of  locomotion.  This  afternoon  he  came 
to  my  rooms  with  a  long  cloak  over  his  arm. 

"  God-mother,"  he  said,  in  a  joyful  voice,  "  I  have 
my  friend  d'Urville's  Panhard  and  I  am  going  to  take 
you  out." 

I  began  by  refusing,  but  he  would  not  accept  any 
of  my  poor  reasons.  He  then  made  me  put  on  my  hat, 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  141 

twisted  a  veil  round  my  head,  helped  me  on  with  his 
mother's  cloak  and  before  I  had  time  to  recognise  my- 
self he  had  installed  me  in  the  vehicle.  Colette,  who 
was  at  the  door,  thanked  me  by  a  glance  for  consenting 
to  let  myself  be  taken  off.  Guy,  in  his  turn,  then  got 
in,  put  his  hand  on  the  guide,  and  we  started.  What 
a  surprise  this  new  motion  was  for  my  old  body.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  motor  was  in  me.  Neither  driver 
nor  horse  in  front  of  us,  nothing  but  space,  and  we 
entered  freely,  triumphantly  into  that,  as  though  it  all 
belonged  to  us.  It  gave  me  the  sensation  of  an  increase 
of  grandeur  and  power. 

"  When  I  looked  at  this  bright,  beautiful  machine,  so 
well  disciplined,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  "  I  realise 
what  progress  has  been  made  in  so  short  a  time.  Eight 
years  ago  I  was  present  at  one  of  the  first  automobile 
races.  There  were  about  twenty  cars.  They  started 
from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  with  a  wild  trepidation,  a 
noise  of  machinery  like  the  jingling  of  saucepans,  and 
they  left  behind  them  the  most  offensive  smoke.  And 
now  here  they  are  almost  perfect,  hurrying  along  noise- 
lessly, obeying  like  living  things.  It  is  marvellous !  " 

"  What  calculations  and  figures  have  had  to  be  worked 
out  on  paper  in  order  to  arrive  at  this  result,"  added 
Guy. 

"  And  where  did  they  come  from,  all  these  figures  ? 
Ask  the  engineers  whether  they  know!  I  like  to  fancy 
that  the  invisible  agents  of  Providence  work  the  human 
brain  in  the  same  way.  Under  their  action  its  thought 
becomes  stronger,  more  harmonious,  its  faculties  become 
flexible,  its  wavering  diminishes,  and  it  is  less  subject 
to  stoppages,  to  those  terrible  stoppages." 

Guy  began  to  laugh. 

"  Stoppages  ?  Well,  your  brain,  god-mother,  cannot 
know  those." 


142  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Oh,  it  does  know  them.  Only  too  often  my  mind 
fumbles  along,  and  that  distresses  me." 

"  A  little  oil  in  the  lubricators,  that  is  all  that  is 
wanting,  I  am  sure." 

"  Which  means?  " 

"  Plenty  of  family  affection.  The  hotel  and  stran- 
gers all  the  time  cannot  be  very  comforting.  Now 
you  will  have  Mother,  Uncle  Georges  and  me.  When 
I  think  that  if  we  had  not  come  to  Bagnoles  we  should, 
perhaps,  never  have  met  each  other  again  in  this  world." 

"  Yes,  but  we  were  intended  to  meet  each  other  again." 

"  You  don't  regret  it,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  I  answered  sincerely. 

"  That's  a  good  thing." 

Guy,  tempted  by  the  fine  road  which  stretched  out 
before  us  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  was  not  long  in 
increasing  the  speed  of  his  machine.  I  closed  my  eyes. 
The  soft,  stimulating  air,  which  we  cut  through, 
thoroughly  intoxicated  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  no 
longer  had  any  body,  and  this  was  a  most  strange  sen- 
sation. As  soon  as  my  driver  slackened  speed  I  became 
conscious  again. 

"  You  weren't  afraid?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  I  hadn't  time  to  be,"  I  answered. 

"  We  won't  tell  that  we  went  at  thirty-seven  an  hour." 

"  No,  we  won't  tell,  agreed.  I  am  glad  to  have  had 
the  experience  of  that  fine  speed." 

Half  an  hour  later,  after  going  through  a  little  town 
called  Forte  Mace,  we  arrived  safe  and  sound  at  the 
door  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  Guy  jumped  down,  and  with 
a  smile,  the  smile  I  had  loved  so  much,  he  held  out  his 
hands,  and  I  gave  him  mine.  This  was  more  marvellous 
still  than  the  Panhards  and  the  Gardner-Serpollets. 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  148 

Bagnoles-de-rOme. 

It  seems  as  though  Providence  is  bent  on  thrusting 
this  son  of  Monsieur  de  Myeres  upon  me  and  letting  him 
be  part  of  my  life.  For  what  object,  I  wonder?  Ah, 
Providence  has  reasons  "  which  reason  ignores."  In 
the  meantime  the  strongest  instincts  of  my  whole  being 
protest.  The  combat  of  which  my  brain  is  the  theatre 
is  certainly  fine  and  curious  to  study,  but  it  is  painful 
to  experience.  My  peace,  which  had  been  bought  so 
dearly,  no  longer  exists.  At  every  instant  the  mellow 
sound  of  an  unforgotten  voice  makes  me  start,  a  glance 
startles  me  and  rouses  sleeping  memories.  At  such 
times  my  old  heart  beats  heavily,  waves  of  emotion 
colour  my  face,  and  I  am  furious.  Guy  attracts  and 
repels  me.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  him  appear  and 
then,  after  a  few  minutes,  his  presence  causes  me  real 
distress.  I  should  like  to  discover  in  him  faults  which 
are  antipathetic  to  me,  but  he  has  those  which  I  like 
and  the  qualities  which  I  prefer  as  well.  I  am  ashamed 
to  own  it,  but  I  hoped  to  find  in  him  some  trace  of 
degeneration.  Well,  I  am  disappointed,  for  he  gives 
one  the  impression  of  perfect  balance,  of  candour  and  of 
fresh  air.  His  expression  is  frank  and  bright.  In  his 
eyes  he  has  not  that  unsteady  look  which  indicates  a 
passion  for  gambling.  His  hand-shake  is  neither  feeble 
nor  ordinary,  it  is  that  of  a  personality.  He  has  the 
artistic  soul  and  the  nervous  temperament  of  his  father, 
but  to  these  have  been  added  some  of  the  elements  of 
force  which  characterized  the  Molays,  the  paternal 
ancestors  of  my  cousin,  the  Huguenot  ancestors.  Na- 
ture went  to  them  to  find  these  elements.  Is  that  why 
Colette  —  ?  That  idea  makes  me  stagger.  I  dare 
not  yet  look  so  deeply  into  life. 

As  though  to  please  me  still  more,  Guy  has  a  faint 
tinge  of  cosmopolitanism.     The  long  voyage  that  he 


144  ON  THE  BRANCH 

took  after  his  military  service  enlarged  his  vision.  He 
speaks  English  and  German  well.  He  goes  to  Scot- 
land for  the  shooting ;  he  has  spent  several  months  of  his 
holidays  at  Bonn.  He  knows  perfectly  well  that  in 
England  there  is  more  discipline,  more  real  discipline 
than  with  us,  that  in  Germany  there  is  a  wider  love  of 
science,  more  respect  for  any  superiority.  He  does  not 
insist  with  hue  and  cry,  like  a  blind  man,  that  France 
is  the  first  of  nations,  but  he  knows  that  it  might  be- 
come the  first.  He  knows  its  weak  points,  and  the  strong 
points  of  our  neighbours.  He  has  acquired  a  good 
basis  of  judgment.  Will  he  have  the  will-power  to 
create  around  him,  and  to  the  extent  of  his  influence, 
the  energies  necessary  to  the  well-being  of  his  country? 
Will  he  have  the  courage  to  react  against  low  ambitions 
and  bad  faith?  I  doubt  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
is  already  affected  with  egotism,  that  moral  microbe 
which  one  finds  so  frequently  among  good  people,  and 
which  paralyses  their  action.  At  "  Les  Rocheilles  "  he 
has  acquired  a  taste  for  the  country  and  for  a  free  life. 
He  is  attending  the  lectures  at  the  Grignon  school  with 
the  idea  of  some  day  being  the  owner  of  a  large  domain. 
At  present  he  is  not  troubling  much  about  clearing 
the  land  and  making  canals.  He  is  nothing  but  a 
lover.  With  whom  is  he  in  love  ?  Is  it  a  society  woman  ? 
Is  she  a  widow,  a  married  or  divorced  woman?  Or  is 
she  a  demi-mondaine?  On  seeing  his  ardent  expression 
it  is  evident  that  it  is  no  young  girl's  face  which  is 
in  his  mind.  Guy  loves  to  talk  and  I  encourage 
him  through  curiosity  about  the  modern  soul.  Poor  soul 
in  transition!  We  judge  it  severely  and  do  not  know 
its  work.  It  is  neither  beautiful  nor  poetical,  I  grant. 
Its  adolescence  has  no  dreams,  its  youth  no  ideal,  no 
enthusiasm,  no  illusions.  There  is  a  gloominess  about 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  145 

it.  The  ancient  faith  has  disappeared  from  its 
horizon,  and  the  new  faith  has  not  yet  risen.  It  is 
not  allowed  to  soar,  but  is  constrained  to  dive  with 
neither  truce  nor  interval,  in  order  to  drag  from  the 
depths  of  Nature  the  elements  and  forces  necessary  for 
a  more  intense  life,  a  more  rapid  evolution.  For  this 
prodigious  effort  the  faculties  of  the  brain  are  strained, 
and  also  the  muscles  of  the  body.  I  feel  great  pity, 
for  I  fancy  that  this  thankless  labour  is  preparing  for 
humanity  a  period  of  beauty,  grandeur  and  happiness. 

Bagnoles-de-l  'Orne. 

If  Guy  were  not  so  young  he  would  no  doubt  notice 
the  tension  that  exists  when  Colette,  he  and  I  are  to- 
gether. I  am  obliged  every  instant  to  turn  the  con- 
versation into  another  channel,  to  avoid  dangerous 
themes.  On  certain  days  it  is  as  though  evil  spirits 
delight  in  making  the  situation  intolerable.  He  takes 
all  his  meals  with  his  mother,  and  in  the  evening  plays 
cards  with  her.  He  has  asked  me  several  times  to  take 
a  hand  at  whist.  I  have  refused  under  the  pretext  that 
I  have  my  bath  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  after  dinner 
I  return  to  my  rooms  lest  he  should  come  and  insist  on 
my  returning  to  the  drawing-room.  He  has  a  very 
vivid  remembrance  of  his  god-father,  his  "  handsome 
god-father,"  as  he  calls  him.  He  began  to  talk  about 
him  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  and  in  such  an  affec- 
tionate manner  that  I  felt  suddenly  choked.  I  did  not 
add  a  word  to  his  praises.  Another  time  I  cut  him  short 
in  such  an  abrupt  way  that  he  was  surprised.  He  is 
astonished  to  see  that  I  am  one  of  those  people  who 
dare  not  look  at  their  dead.  The  weakness  on  my  part 
disappoints  him,  I  am  sure.  My  modernism  and  my 
cosmopolitanism  constantly  disconcert  him.  I  evidently 


146  ON  THE  BRANCH 

interfere  with  his  conception  of  what  an  elderly  woman 
should  be.  He  is  above  all  shocked  to  see  me  living 
at  the  hotel.  A  word  betrayed  his  ideas. 

"  You  think  that  it  is  wanting  in  dignity,"  I  said, 
with  a  half  smile. 

"  No,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  must  feel  the  need 
of  a  home." 

"  Sometimes  it  happens  that  I  have  a  longing  for 
a  nice  flat,  away  from  the  outside  world,  a  maid,  an 
excellent  cook,  friends,  a  carriage  and  pair.  And  yet 
I  am  persuaded  that  if  all  that  were  given  to  me,  before 
very  long  I  should  ask  for  my  room  again  at  the  Hotel 
de  Castiglione.  I  like  being  '  on  the  branch  '  better  than 
living  in  an  empty  nest  with  my  feet  doubled  up.  My 
sole  regret  is  not  to  have  a  nook  in  the  country,  not 
to  be  able  to  enjoy  either  the  summer  or  the  autumn. 
I  have  a  horror  of  hotel  landscapes." 

Guy's  face  lighted  up. 

"  But  you  will  have  '  Les  Rocheilles '  now,"  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  verdure,  trees,  flowers  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent. We  might  arrange  the  summer-house  in  the 
Orangery  for  you,  couldn't  we,  mother?  " 

"  A  good  idea,"  answered  Colette,  without  looking  at 
me. 

"  Uncle  Georges  will  not  be  sorry.  We  can  have  some 
bridge  and  poker  there.  As  soon  as  mother  is  con- 
valescent I  will  come  and  fetch  you.  You  must  spend 
the  autumn  with  us  by  way  of  a  trial." 

I  felt  my  cousin's  anguish  magnetically. 

"  Agreed !  "  I  said  gaily. 

The  poor  woman  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  If  ever  a 
word  did  her  any  good  it  was  that  one,  and  I  am  glad 
that  I  was  able  to  utter  it.  Colette  and  Guy  are  keenly 
interested  in  my  literary  work.  They  wanted  to  know 
the  genesis  of  my  books.  I  told  them  with  real  pleasure. 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  147 

I  know  now  how  much  I  have  missed  in  having  no 
family,  and  I  understand  why  success  has  given  me  so 
little  joy.  Madame  d'Hauterive  asked  me  whether  I 
had  the  manuscript  of  the  novel  which  is  to  appear 
in  a  Review  in  December.  On  my  reply  in  the  affirma- 
tive, she  expressed  a  wish  to  read  it. 

"  You  see,"  she  added,  with  a  nervous  smile,  "  I 
might  not  be  there  then." 

I  made  fun  of  that  supposition,  but  I  took  her  my 
little  manuscript  books.  She  stroked  them,  with  her 
pretty  pale  hand,  opened  them  slowly  with  respect, 
and  looked  at  the  hand-writing  as  at  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Always  firm,  always  clear,  and  not  at  all  the  old 
school.  It  will  be  the  first  time  I  have  ever  read  a 
novel  in  manuscript,"  she  said,  with  childish  satisfac- 
tion. 

The  next  day,  to  my  great  surprise,  she  arrived  in  my 
rooms  with  the  book. 

"  Finished  already !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  could  not  leave  it." 

"  That's  a  compliment." 

She  put  her  arms  round  my  neck. 

"  Oh,  Antone,  it  is  more  beautiful,  stronger  than  the 
others  That  happens  with  real  children  you  know. 
The  last  are  often  the  greatest  successes.  You  can  be 
proud  of  this  one.  I  adore  it,  and  you  with  it,"  she 
added,  pressing  her  cheek  to  mine. 

"  Well,  sit  down  there,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  couch, 
"  I  am  curious  to  hear  the  impressions  of  my  first  reader, 
you  understand." 

She  lay  down  and  I  arranged  the  cushions  behind 
her  back.  Then  with  an  animated  expression  she  spoke 
to  me  of  the  scenes  that  had  pleased  her  the  most,  of 
the  ideas  that  had  struck  her. 


148  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  And  my  heroine,  did  you  discover  her  resemblance 
to  anyone?  " 

Colette  blushed. 

"  To  me?     I  was  not  flattering  myself  then?  " 

"  Without  intending  it,  I  must  own  that  I  have  given 
her  your  style,  a  great  deal  of  your  character  and  many 
of  your  habits.  Did  you  notice  that  when  she  prays 
she  closes  her  eyes  very  tightly  like  you  ?  " 

"  I  no  longer  close  them.  What  disturbs  me  is  in- 
side now." 

"  And  the  pretty  way  you  handle  your  lorgnette,  I 
have  lent  her  that.  You  see,  there  are  effects,  sensations, 
gestures  which  fix  themselves  in  our  brains,  without 
our  knowing  it,  to  be  used  for  the  work  that  has  to  be 
done,  for  some  far-off  work,  even." 

"  It  is  marvellous,"  murmured  Madame  d'Hauterive, 
"  And  what  things  you  have  discovered  in  a  simple  love 
story." 

"  Not  the  thousandth  part  of  what  it  contains  prob- 
ably." 

"  The  hopes  that  you  give  seem  so  true,"  added  Co- 
lette. 

"  Because  they  come  from  Life  itself.  Life  is  full  of 
precious  matters,  man  has  only  been  able  to  draw  mud 
and  clay  from  it  hitherto,  some  day  he  will  arrive  at 
its  real  treasures." 

"  And  when  I  think  that  your  optimism  is  born  of  a 
great  sorrow." 

"  It  is  the  proof  of  its  logic  and  of  its  sincerity." 

"  No  doubt.  Antone,  you  must  write  these  pages 
with  real  hope." 

"  Providence  has  known  how  to  oblige  me  to  do  it." 

"  And  it  has  made  use  of  me.  That  idea  will  always 
bring  me  back  to  pessimism.  It  is  all  in  vain  that  I 
say  to  myself  all  the  time  I  have  lived  out  my  destiny, 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  149 

there  are  moments  when  I  feel  guilty.  You  see,  I  know 
exactly  where  my  conscience  is  placed;  it  is  here  below 
my  heart.  With  me  this  spot  must  be  bruised,  blue 
with  remorse." 

I  could  not  help  smiling. 

Madame  d'Hauterive  rose  to  go  away.  She  tapped 
my  manuscript  tenderly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  think  that  when  you  began  this  novel 
you  could  already  consider  me  without  any  ill-will." 

"  Without  ill  will !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Did  you  not  see 
that  I  had  a  special  affection  for  that  heroine  who  resem- 
bles you  ?  I  did  not  imagine  that  our  meeting  was  to  be 
so  soon,  but  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  wished  for  it." 

"And  I,  just  think!" 

"  We  did  not  bring  it  about.  It  happened  independ- 
ently of  our  will.  What  other  proof  do  you  want  in 
order  to  believe  that  we  are  led?  " 

My  cousin  put  her  hand  over  mine  and  pressed  it 
firmly. 

"  May  you  keep  the  absolute  and  triumphant  faith 
which  has  put  forgiveness  into  your  heart !  "  she  said. 

God  knows  that  my  forgiveness  is  complete.  Colette 
does  not  cause  me  pain  like  M.  de  Myeres  and  Guy. 
I  am  once  more  sensitive  to  her  delicate  charm.  She 
inspires  me  with  a  kind  of  maternal  friendship.  That 
does  not  mean  that  we  are  as  near  to  each  other  as  we 
were  formerly.  No,  there  are,  in  the  depth  of  our  be- 
ings, hereditary  repugnances  which  are  stronger  than 
reason.  At  certain  moments  a  thought,  a  memory, 
either  of  hers  or  of  mine,  changes  the  atmosphere,  pro- 
duces a  chill;  an  invisible  barrier  rises  between  us,  there 
is  a  silence  and  we  leave  each  other  saddened  and  sur- 
prised. I  have  kissed  Madame  d'Hauterive  several 
times,  I  have  held  her  in  my  arms,  yet  I  could  neither 
drink  tea,  nor  play  cards  with  her!  We  had,  from  our 


150  ON  THE  BRANCH 

childhood  liked  tea.  We  took  it  in  our  two  families  be- 
cause we  enjoyed  the  taste  of  it,  at  a  time  when  in 
France  it  was  still  considered  as  a  medicine.  It  had  an 
exhilarating  effect  on  our  brains.  We  prepared  it  with 
jealous  care,  we  did  everything  we  could  to  bring  out 
its  aroma,  and  we  only  offered  it  to  those  who  appre- 
ciated it.  Monsieur  de  Myeres  was  one  of  these  people. 
It  was  particularly  delightful  at  Chavigny,  this  five 
o'clock  communion.  I  can  see  Colette  and  myself  dis- 
tinctly, installed  in  the  recess  of  one  of  the  high  windows. 
On  the  table  between  us,  lighted  up  by  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  the  old  silver,  the  singing  kettle,  the  Chi- 
nese porcelain  of  sea-green,  the  small  linen  napkins, 
and  the  fragrant  steam  rising  from  the  cups.  That 
little  exotic  spirit  of  the  tea.  which  we  absorbed  slowly, 
communicated  to  us  an  instantaneous  feeling  of  well- 
being,  a  slight  intoxication.  Our  conversation  became 
more  animated,  everything  seemed  better  here  below. 
We  called  that  time  "  the  rose  coloured  hour."  It  is 
all  this  which  could  not  be  reproduced.  Madame  d'Hau- 
terive  feels  it  as  well  as  I  do.  The  other  day  the  maid 
brought  in  the  tea-tray  while  I  was  there.  She  sent 
it  away  again  brusquely,  and  her  delicate  eyebrows  met 
in  a  contraction  of  pain.  Why  was  this? 

As  to  cards,  we  used  to  love  them,  not  after  the  man- 
ner of  gamblers,  but  like  living  capricious  things  which 
were  in  turn  favourable  or  unfavourable  to  us,  which 
gave  us  a  sensation  of  good  or  bad  luck.  Without 
being  able  in  those  days  to  account  for  it,  we  were  agree- 
ably affected  by  the  electricity  that  they  produced. 
From  our  earliest  childhood  we  had  played  donkey  and 
battle,  later  on  it  was  bezique,  ecarte  or  piquet.  Oh, 
the  glorious  games  we  had,  I  have  thought  of  them 
more  than  once.  I  never  played  with  an  adversary  as 
amusing  as  my  cousin.  She  was  incapable  of  con- 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  151 

trolling  herself,  and  her  behaviour  would  have  scan- 
dalised English  people.  Her  exclamations,  her  looks 
betrayed  her  at  times,  but  she  played  cautiously  and 
well.  When  she  continued  losing  rather  too  long  a 
time,  she  began  to  invoke  her  ancestors,  all  the  saints 
she  knew,  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  who  was  just  be- 
ginning to  be  in  favour,  and  Joan  of  Arc.  The  excite- 
ment of  the  game  gave  her  a  pretty  colour.  My  aunt, 
who  did  not  like  seeing  us  spend  hours  at  the  card  table, 
suggested  to  us  one  day  that  we  should,  at  any  rate, 
make  "  a  pool "  for  the  poor.  We  caught  at  the  idea, 
which  we  thought  brilliant.  It  gave  new  interest  to  our 
games,  and  put  a  certain  harmony  into  our  passion. 
The  sight  of  the  stockings  and  shirts  we  saw  being  made 
around  us  no  longer  caused  us  any  remorse,  for  we  were 
making  the  Queen  of  Spades  work  for  charity.  This 
was  not  commonplace,  and  it  was  very  amusing.  She 
supplied  warm  clothes,  filled  plenty  of  lamps  with  oil, 
and  eased  the  last  days  of  many  old  people.  I  remem- 
ber that  once  we  took  it  into  our  heads  to  bring  about 
a  marriage  between  two  young  people  of  Chavigny ; 
both  of  them  had  been  children  deserted  by  their  parents. 
They  liked  each  other,  and  they  had  "  a  marrying  dis- 
position," as  the  Cher  people  say,  but  they  had  not 
sixpence  between  them  with  which  to  go  into  house- 
keeping. We  started,  for  their  benefit,  a  memorable 
"  pool."  I  do  not  think  any  other  ever  gave  us  so 
much  pleasure.  After  playing  for  two  or  three  hours 
we  would  cry  out  triumphantly,  "  We  have  won  the 
kitchen  utensils."  After  this  it  was  the  household  linen 
and  then  the  bed.  When  we  had  arrived  at  the  sum  of 
fifteen  pounds  we  had  the  banns  put  up  and  ordered 
the  violins.  Ah,  what  a  happy  memory  that  is.  Our 
proteges  are  now  very  comfortably  off,  and  they  have 
two  children.  The  eldest  son  is  apprenticed  as  a  gar- 


152  ON  THE  BRANCH 

dener  at  Vilmorin.  Cards,  which  have  destroyed  so  many 
homes,  created  one,  anyhow.  It  is  a  satisfaction  to 
think  that  our  games  of  bezique,  ecarte  and  piquet  have 
produced  something  good,  life,  even,  which  will  be  per- 
petuated long  after  us.  And  we  can  never  begin  them 
again,  those  dear  games.  The  idea  of  Madame  de 
Myeres  and  Colette  d'Hauterive  playing  at  bezique  and 
ecarte  together!  Impossible!  The  very  thought  of  it 
makes  my  imagination  rebel.  It  seems  to  me  ridiculous. 
What  is  ridicule?  It  is  a  want  of  harmony  that  makes 
people  laugh.  I  do  not  see  any  other  explanation.  All 
lack  of  harmony  is  painful  or  ugly.  The  last  few 
days  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  Madame 
Victor  Hugo.  When  the  publisher,  Lacroix,  gave  a  ban- 
quet in  honour  of  the  poet's  sixtieth  anniversary,  she  au- 
thorised her  husband  to  invite  his  mistress,  and  she  drank 
a  toast  herself  to  her  health.  Frankly,  I  feel  that  I  am 
incapable  of  arriving  at  that  height.  She  considered  her 
husband  perhaps  as  a  demi-god  evidently,  whilst  for 
me,  Monsieur  de  Myeres  was  just  a  man. 

Bagnoles-de-l'Orne. 

Colette  leaves  Bagnoles  to-morrow.  At  my  request, 
she  has  prolonged  her  stay  a  week.  We  shall  have  spent 
fifteen  days  together  after  having  kept  aloof  from  each 
other  for  fifteen  years.  When  I  saw  the  maid  beginning 
to  pack  the  trunks  I  had  a  pang  at  my  heart.  Am  I  not 
to  see  her  again?  She  has  gained  strength  at  Bagnoles. 
The  pain  which  makes  her  have  recourse  to  injections  of 
morphia  is  less  frequent,  but  she  is  terribly  anaemic.  I 
have  never  seen  such  deep  circles  under  any  living  eyes. 
It  is  this  which  makes  me  uneasy.  The  dread  of  the 
operation  she  has  to  undergo  weighs  on  her  mind,  and 
with  what  a  weight  I  can  imagine.  Often  when  she  has 
been  making  plans  she  has  stopped  short  and  been  silent, 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  153 

as  though  she  had  seen  the  edge  of  the  sword  hanging 
over  her  head.  She  has  given  me  a  sealed  envelope,  beg- 
ging me  to  open  it  if  she  should  die.  I  have  used  all  my 
eloquence  to  reassure  her,  I  have  invented  all  the  instances 
of  cure  I  could  think  of,  and  I  believe  I  have  succeeded  in 
inspiring  her  with  a  little  hope. 

Guy  wanted  us  to  dine  together  this  evening  at  the 
restaurant  and  I  could  not  refuse.  In  order  to  lessen  the 
tension  that  she  foresaw,  Madame  d'Hauterive  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  invite  one  of  his  friends  who  was  staying 
near  Bagnoles. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  answered  "  only  three.  It  will  be  nicer 
and  more  homelike."  More  homelike  ...  he  little 
thought  to  what  degree!  Oh,  that  dinner,  the  memory 
of  it,  and  the  suffering,  too,  will  remain  with  me  for  a 
long  time.  In  his  ignorance  of  the  torture  he  was  inflict- 
ing upon  us,  Guy  had  ordered  a  very  dainty  meal,  and 
had  sent  flowers  from  Ferte-Mace.  I  had  never  seen  him 
dressed  for  dinner.  His  well-cut  smoking  jacket  and 
his  white  shirt-front  emphasised  his  resemblance  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Myeres  in  such  a  pitiless  way  that  my  voice  was 
constantly  altered  by  my  emotion.  He  fascinated  me, 
and  when  I  looked  at  him  I  felt,  instinctively,  the  embar- 
rassment of  Madame  d'Hauterive.  We  scarcely  ate  any- 
thing, but  we  drank  a  great  deal  of  champagne.  Under 
its  influence  Colette's  eyes  dilated,  their  circles  became 
more  hollow,  two  red  patches,  like  two  flowers  of  blood, 
coloured  her  cheeks.  In  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  lamp- 
shades this  superficial  brilliancy  showed  up  all  the  more, 
and  gave  me  a  painful  impression.  In  spite  of  our  ef- 
forts it  was  difficult  to  keep  up  the  conversation,  and  there 
were  cold  currents,  heavy  silences,  false  notes.  Without 
knowing  it  Guy  himself  was  affected  by  all  this.  Colette, 
her  son,  the  son  of  Monsieur  de  Myeres,  and  I,  the  wife, 
gathered  round  the  same  table,  sharing  the  bread  and 


154  ON  THE  BRANCH 

wine,  it  was  too  flagrantly  inharmonious,  and  that  was 
why  it  was  so  painful.  Ah,  this  want  of  harmony,  is  it 
not  the  cause  of  all  the  evils,  of  all  the  ugliness  here  and 
elsewhere?  The  occult  struggle,  which  goes  on  without 
truce  in  the  whole  universe,  is  not  the  unique  object  of  it 
to  create  harmony? 

Bagnoles-de-l'Orne. 

Colette  has  gone  —  she  and  her  son,  of  course.  The 
idea  that  we  should,  perhaps,  never  see  each  other  again 
made  our  farewell  deeply  felt  and  painful.  We  could  not 
take  our  eyes  from  each  other  and  could  not  loose  hands. 
Guy  felt  this  and  tried,  by  his  gaiety,  to  dissipate  our 
emotion. 

"  We  shall  keep  an  eye  on  you,  god-mother,"  he  said 
at  the  last  moment.  "  And  above  all,  don't  try  to  escape 
from  your  family." 

"  I  shall  not  try,"  I  answered.  He  kissed  my  hand, 
sprang  into  the  compartment,  took  off  his  hat,  and  called 
out,  "  Good-bye,  till  we  meet  at  '  Les  Rocheilles  ' !  " 

And  I  repeated  "  '  Les  Rocheilles.'  "  The  train  moved 
off.  It  made  an  immense  curve  before  disappearing. 
Colette  stayed  at  the  window.  I  saw  her  white  face 
going  farther  away  and  getting  smaller,  and  then  a 
thick  cloud  of  black  smoke  hid  it  abruptly  from  me,  and  I 
stood  there,  seized  with  a  superstitious. fear.  I  had  not 
the  courage  to  return  to  the  hotel,  so  went  for  a  walk  in 
the  forest.  I  have  not  felt  such  a  sensation  of  solitude 
for  years.  The  situation  between  Madame  d'Hauterive, 
Guy  and  myself  was  false,  intolerable  at  times,  but  as 
long  as  they  were  there  I  was  once  more  protected  —  I  be- 
longed to  someone.  I  was  glad  to  say  "  my  cousin," 
to  show  that  I  had  relatives  like  everyone  else.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  family  gives  force  and  dignity  to  the 
individual.  Whilst  walking  along  with  bent  head  I  lived 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  155 

over  again  this  last  chapter,  and  life  appeared  to  me  more 
extraordinary,  more  marvellous  than  ever.  I  would 
have  given  a  great  deal  to  have  been  able  to  talk  all  this 
over  with  Sir  William  Randolph.  I  wrote  to  him  about 
my  meeting  with  Madame  d'Hauterive,  to  him,  sole  con- 
fidant. What  will  he  think  of  it?  If  I  had  been  told 
when  I  left  England  that  a  fortnight  later  I  should  part 
from  Colette  with  sorrow,  I  should  not  have  failed  to  an- 
swer :  "  Never,  impossible ! "  and  yet  I  do  feel  sorrow. 
We  should  do  wisely  to  efface  these  two  ridiculous  adverbs 
from  our  vocabulary. 

Bagnoles-de-l'Orne. 

Three  days  ago  I  had  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about 
Simley  Hall  and  Sir  William,  and  he  was  writing  the 
original  letter  I  have  just  received,  a  letter  that  is  very 
English  in  tone,  very  masculine  in  character ;  in  which  all 
sentiment  and  feeling  are  dissimulated  by  humour  and 
bantering,  and  in  which  an  involuntary  bitterness  is  per- 
ceptible. "  In  spite  of  my  reluctance,"  he  says,  "  I  am 
compelled  to  admit  that  this  meeting  with  your  cousin  has 
all  the  appearance  of  having  been  foreordained,  and  also 
the  reconciliation  which  followed  it.  After  that  I  cannot, 
without  failing  in  the  logic  which  is  your  strong  point, 
praise  your  generosity.  And  by  the  same  argument  I 
ought  to  declare  the  woman  murderer,  H.,  who  is  to  be 
hanged  to-morrow  at  Newgate,  innocent.  Your  belief 
is  desperately  perplexing.  Anyhow,  I  can  congratulate 
you  on  having  arrived  at  a  degree  of  perfection  which 
permits  you  to  forgive  so  completely,  and  this  I  do  heart- 
ily. Although  you  have  not  arrived  at  making  me  see 
life  under  the  same  aspect  as  you  see  it,  do  not  regret 
your  visit  to  Simley.  You  did  me  a  great  deal  of  good. 
Certain  ideas  of  yours  have  germinated  in  my  brain  and 
produced  something.  The  action  of  your  Latin  soul 


156  -ON  THE  BRANCH 

upon  my  rough  Saxon  soul  has  not  been  in  vain.  You 
can  be  proud  of  that !  " 

In  his  last  page  he  adds :  "  It  is  useless  to  hope  for 
anything  better  for  me,  in  case  you  were  childish  enough 
to  do  so.  Hope  rather  that  courage  may  be  given  me. 
I  try  to  believe  with  you  that  the  vibrations  of  joy  and 
sorrow  are  necessary  for  alimenting  universal  life,  and 
that  it  is  indispensable  that  I  should  be  suffocated, 
frankly,  at  that  point,  I  do  not  succeed.  You  have 
done  wisely  in  supplementing  your  philosophy  by  send- 
ing that  picture  by  Ary  Scheffer.  I  have  put  it  facing 
my  bed,  and  I  blend  my  hope  with  that  which  shines  on 
the  face  of  St.  Monica.  That  is,  perhaps,  more  sure. 
I  fancy  that  she  sees  a  place  where  one  can  breathe  well, 
where  the  air  is  oxygenated,  divine.  Oh,  to  be  able  to 
breathe!  That  alone  at  times  seems  to  represent  Para- 
dise for  me.  When  Goethe  was  dying  he  asked  for  more 
light ;  it  is  more  air  for  which  I  shall  ask." 

While  reading  these  lines  my  heart  filled  with  affection- 
ate sympathy,  and  my  eyes  with  tears.  Oh  no,  I  do  not 
regret  my  visit  to  Simley  Hah1.  Enclosed  in  her  grand- 
father's letter  was  an  absolutely  delightful  one  from  little 
Lily. 

"  Dear  Madame  de  Myeres,"  she  wrote,  "  we  have  just 
had  a  great  trouble.  Rosy,  the  black  nursery  cat,  who 
had  tea  with  you,  is  dead.  She  would  not  eat  and  hid 
under  the  beds  and  under  the  tables.  The  day  before 
yesterday  Sarah  called  her,  but  she  did  not  come,  because 
she  was  not  alive.  I  have  cried  a  great  deal.  Frank 
choked  down  his  tears,  boys  always  do  that,  isn't  it 
funny  ?  Grandpapa  says  there  is  a  Paradise  for  animals, 
and  we  believe  that  Rosy  is  happy.  She  was  so  nice 
and  so  obedient.  We  buried  her  in  the  animals'  cemetery, 
and  when  there  are  flowers  on  her  grave  we  shall  send  you 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  157 

some.     We  do  not  know  yet  what  we  shall  plant  there. 
We  hope  you  will  soon  come  again  to  Simley." 

There  are  children  for  you,  real  children !  God  bless 
them !  I  shall  not  fail  to  send  them  my  condolences  for 
Rosy's  death. 

Bagnoles-de-VOrne. 

Bagnoles  has  three  wonderful  things :  its  air,  its  water 
and  its  forest.  The  air  is  neither  light  nor  keen,  but  soft 
and  pure.  Its  molecules  have  the  property  of  making 
objects  seem  larger,  of  bringing  them  nearer.  At  night 
the  sky  appears  remarkably  low.  Nowhere  in  Europe 
have  I  seen  the  stars  so  large  and  so  near  to  me.  In  this 
little  northern  place,  there  is  the  same  luminous  clearness, 
the  same  vibrating  atmosphere  as  in  the  Maritime- Alps. 
The  mineral  water,  like  that  of  Gastein,  unique  in  France, 
is  unctuous.  It  seems  like  liquefied  resinous  sap,  and 
it  is  a  beautifying  water.  I  have  amused  myself  with 
studying  its  effects.  After  about  twenty  minutes  in  the 
bath  the  body  takes  a  peculiar  whiteness,  it  looks  blood- 
less. It  is  as  though  the  blood  were  all  driven  back. 
The  reaction  afterwards  gives  a  sensation  of  warmth,  of 
absolutely  delicious  well-being.  The  Andaines  Forest, 
is  all  around  the  spring  and  was  probably  created  by  it. 
It  is  not  imposing,  but  infinitely  calm  and  beneficent.  It 
has  wild  nooks  in  it,  the  aspect  of  which  causes  one  an  al- 
most sacred  terror;  there  are  undergrowths  of  delicate 
foliage,  interspersed  with  pink  heather,  and  heights  from 
which  the  pines,,  stirred  by  the  wind,  emit  fragrant  and 
harmonious  waves  of  odour.  It  attracts  and  holds  you. 
You  walk  and  walk,  and  your  breathing  gets  easy.  That 
soul  of  the  trees,  which  makes  a  flame  in  the  fire-grates, 
increases  your  vitality,  and  you  come  away  from  your 
communion  with  it  refreshed,  physically  and  morally. 


158  ON  THE  BRANCH 

The  air,  the  water,  the  forest  form  here  a  reservoir  of 
forces  and  of  health.  We  do  not  yet  know  how  to  dis- 
tribute them  nor  how  to  draw  them  out,  that  is  the  mis- 
fortune. 

In  the  hands  of  the  Germans  or  the  Swiss,  Bagnoles 
would  at  present  be  a  watering-place  of  first  rank.  For 
forty  years  it  has  vegetated  most  obscurely.  It  only  had 
one  hotel,  a  most  primitive  one,  and  an  insufficient  estab- 
lishment for  the  waters.  The  provincial  people  and  the 
lower  middle  class  who  frequent  it,  have  egotistically  re- 
frained from  proclaiming  the  virtue  of  the  waters. 
They  have  taken  their  daily  baths,  I  am  sure,  in  con- 
stant dread  of  the  place  becoming  more  expensive.  The 
doctors  and  a  member  of  Parliament,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions, finally  undertook  to  run  it.  At  their  suggestion 
a  company  was  formed  and  a  magnificent,  luxurious  and 
absurd  hotel,  which  cost  eighty  thousand  pounds,  was 
built  opposite  the  station,  on  the  unique  lake.  After  this 
first  impetus,  avenues  were  traced  out  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest.  Villas  and  cottages  sprang  up  as  though  by 
magic,  but  on  land  that  had  not  been  prepared,  that  is 
before  all  the  canalisations  necessary  for  health  had  been 
made,  so  that  the  water  from  the  houses  forms,  here  and 
there,  whitish  streams  coloured  with  grease  which  smell 
badly.  These  streams  run  down  as  they  can  to  the  lake, 
which  they  pollute,  and  which  would  pollute  all  the  coun- 
try round  if  the  air  were  not  absolutely  antiseptic.  A 
peasant  woman,  with  whom  I  walked  a  little  way  the 
other  day,  assured  me  that  before  the  war  disease  was 
unknown  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  that  people  only 
died  there  of  old  age.  Bagnoles  is  still  classed  among 
the  insignificant  places,  but  it  has  a  future.  Avarice, 
selfishness,  the  want  of  organisation  and  practical  com- 
mon sense,  politics,  even,  have  impeded  its  prosperity,  as 
they  impede  our  progress  and  all  our  work,  perhaps  with 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  159 

a  purpose.  There  are  nations  which  require  to  be  urged 
on,  and  others  which  need  to  be  held  back.  Who  knows 
if  we  are  not  one  of  the  latter?  A  rather  curious 
fact  is  the  hostility  which  the  building  of  the  Grand 
Hotel  provoked  among  all  the  peasants  of  the  district. 
With  their  conservative  mind,  perhaps,  they  liked  the  old 
Bathing  Establishment ;  or  did  this  revelation  of  modern 
luxury  offend  them?  They  could  not  tell  themselves, 
very  likely,  but  from  the  very  first  minute  they  detested 
it,  and  they  watched  it  being  built  with  increasing  dis- 
trust. They  come  in  groups  and  stand  before  the  gate- 
way, look  at  it  with  open  mouths  and  astonished  eyes,  and 
then  turn  silently  on  their  heels.  Some  of  them  make 
bold  to  go  up  the  flight  of  stone  steps,  to  cross  the  hall 
and  reading  room,  and  go  down  again  by  the  terrace 
steps.  La  Grande  Hotel,  as  they  persist  in  calling  it, 
has  not  exhausted  their  curiosity.  It  is  an  object  of  pil- 
grimage for  all  the  weddings,  and  the  richer  ones  take  re- 
freshments there.  Last  Sunday  I  witnessed,  in  the  din- 
ing-room, a  little  scene  very  characteristic  of  our  epoch. 
A  farmer,  a  man  of  seventy  at  least,  wearing  a  long  blue 
blouse  and  well  washed  shirt,  had  been  freshly  shaven, 
and  arrived  to  dinner  with  his  son  and  daughter-in-law. 
They  were  shown  to  a  table  near  mine,  and  they  took  their 
seats.  The  father,  with  the  dignity  natural  to  the  head 
of  a  family  and  the  assurance  of  the  one  who  pays,  re- 
marked to  the  waiter,  pushing  aside  the  menu  that  was 
offered  to  him :  "  Give  us  everything  you  have."  He 
did  not  appear  to  be  at  all  impressed  by  the  fine  ladies 
and  gentlemen  in  the  midst  of  whom  he  found  himself. 
His  children  were  more  intimidated  than  he  was.  The 
woman,  in  spite  of  her  fine  black  silk  dress  and  her  flower- 
trimmed  hat,  which  by-the-bye,  made  her  look  consider- 
ably uglier,  appeared  uncomfortable.  She  felt,  by  fem- 
inine intuition,  that  she  was  "  not  in  it."  To  be  in  it 


160  ON  THE  BRANCH 

or  not  to  be  in  it  means  so  much.  I  did  not  lose  sight 
of  the  old  Norman.  He  ate  all  the  dishes  with  visible 
enjoyment,  smacked  his  tongue  over  the  Saint- Julien  and 
to  complete  the  little  festivity  ordered  coffee  and  liqueurs. 
I  watched  him  when  the  bill  came  and  he  was  certainly 
very  chic.  He  put  on  his  spectacles  and  looked  at  the 
total.  The  total,  which  would  probably  have  given 
his  father  an  apoplectic  fit,  did  not  cause  him  any  sur- 
prise. He  brought  out  a  big  purse,  paid  without  flinch- 
ing, and  then,  crossing  his  hands  on  his  cudgel,  looked 
round  him  with  an  expression  of  pride  in  his  little  sly 
eyes  and  a  j  oking  smile  that  said  plainly :  "  We've  got 
money  too."  He  had,  certainly,  and  no  doubt  the  good 
fellow,  standing  there  in  that  dining-room  full  of  middle 
class  folk,  had  a  sweet  illusion  of  equality  if  not  of  fra- 
ternity. 

Bagnoles-de-l  'Orne. 

I  have  received  two  telegrams  from  Guy  and  this  morn- 
ing the  first  letter  from  Madame  d'Hauterive.  The 
sight  of  the  latter  caused  me  deep  emotion  that  was  very 
sweet.  On  touching  it  I  felt  that  particular  fluid  which 
is  evolved  by  the  thoughts  of  those  with  whom  Nature 
has  linked  us.  Linked !  Science  will  some  day  reveal  to 
us  the  meaning  of  those  beautiful  words  which  we  still 
utter  like  children.  Colette  had  arrived  at  "  Les  Ro- 
cheilles  "  without  too  much  fatigue,  after  resting  two 
days  and  a  night  at  Paris.  She  had  wanted  to  put  up  at 
the  Hotel  Castiglione,  and  this  is  what  she  wrote  me  on 
the  sub  j  ect  — 

"  I  asked  for  your  room,  and  fortunately,  it  happened 
to  be  free.  I  entered  it  with  an  almost  religious  feeling. 
The  smallness  of  its  dimensions  gave  me  a  pang  at  my 
heart.  How  could  you  have  lived  there  and  only  there, 
you  who  always  needed  space  and  never  thought  rooms 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  161 

were  large  and  high  enough?  I  asked  to  have  the  table 
on  which  Madame  de  Myeres  wrote.  The  maid  answered 
stiffly :  '  We  don't  give  it  to  other  people.'  I  could 
have  kissed  her  for  this,  and  I  then  explained  to  her  that 
I  was  a  relative,  and  that  I  wanted  to  see  how  you  were 
installed  there.  The  good  woman's  face  brightened  with 
comprehension  and  she  quickly  lent  herself  to  my  fancy. 
From  my  bed  my  eyes  rested  for  a  long  time  on  that 
table,  where  your  novels  were  born,  where  all  those  ideas, 
all  those  sentiments  which  were  to  stir  my  soul  were  de- 
veloped. I  listened  to  the  ticking  of  the  old  clock  which 
marked  your  hours  of  work.  And  neither  this  table  nor 
this  clock  are  yours  even.  Oh,  Antone,  I  cannot  endure 
that.  I  do  not  know  whether  your  room  possesses  a  par- 
ticular charm,  but  it  was  good  to  be  there  —  oh,  so  good, 
that  I  should  have  liked  to  have  been  able  to  stay  until 
the  end  of  the  week.  I  visited  the  house,  and  I  had  your 
table  pointed  out  to  me  in  the  dining-room.  We  lunched 
at  it,  Guy  and  I.  Yes,  everything  is  elegant  and  com- 
fortable, as  you  said,  but  that  hptel  coldness  —  how  could 
you  get  used  to  it  ?  How  is  it  that  it  did  not  freeze  your 
very  soul?  " 

Dear  Colette!  I  am  glad  that  she  has  slept  in  my 
room.  It  seemed  small  to  her.  Yes,  it  is  small.  What 
does  it  matter,  though  I  know  now,  with  the  poet, 
"  The  space  one  needs  in  which  to  love,  to  live  and  to 
die."  The  hotel  freeze  my  soul!  Oh  no,  I  found  rest 
there,  the  models  whom  I  needed,  all  that  was  necessary 
for  the  work  assigned  to  me  by  Providence.  Farther  on 
Madame  d'Hauterive  said  — 

"  The  doctor  was  amazed  at  the  effect  of  the  waters. 
When  I  saw  him  again  I  nearly  fell  on  his  neck,  by  way 
of  thanking  him  for  having  indicated  Bagnoles  to  me. 
I  still  have  these  youthful  impulses  —  in  imagination. 
The  dear  man !  He  little  thought,  though  —  the  phrase 


162  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  was  going  to  write  has  stopped  my  pen.  No  —  he 
little  thought.  Without  his  knowing  it,  his  prescription 
was  destined  to  make  us  meet  again.  It  was  the  best  pre- 
scription he  ever  wrote.  And  what  about  you?  Was 
it  not  the  manager  and  his  wife  who  brought  you  to  the 
Grand  Hotel?  They  were  the  secret  and  unconscious 
agents  of  our  meeting.  Oh,  Antone,  you  are  right ;  life 
is  greater,  more  magnificent  than  we  imagine.  You  shall 
teach  me  to  look  at  it.  You  shall  be  my  professor  for 
the  study  of  life;  will  you?  When  we  were  young  we 
dreamed  our  dreams  together,  now  we  are  old  we  will 
philosopsise.  All  the  people  in  the  country  round  are 
delighted  to  see  me  walk.  The  hope  that  I  read  on  their 
faces  has  entered  into  me.  It  has  dissipated  my  gloomy 
presentiments,  and  even  my  fear.  For  years  I  have  not 
felt  so  well  in  mind  and  body.  Let  us  know  whether  Bag- 
noles  has  not  some  patron  saint  to  whom  I  can  send 
an  offering.  Uncle  Georges  was  very  happy  about  our 
reconciliation.  He  shook  hands  with  me  several  times 
while  looking  into  my  eyes  in  a  way  that  rather  disturbed 
me.  Can  he  have  suspected?  .  .  .  No  matter  now. 
The  transformation  of  Madame  de  Myeres  into  a  novelist 
stupefied  him.  He  is  now  reading  your  books  again. 
He  will  write  to  you  to  congratulate  you.  We  talk  of 
you  every  day.  It  gives  me  a  childish  pleasure  to  utter 
your  name  aloud.  It  puts  some  joy  into  the  atmosphere 
of  '  Les  Rocheilles.'  And  it  is  good  to  be  writing  to 
you  from  here.  Don't  loose  my  hand  again,  Antone. 
But  I  am  quite  easy  about  that,  for  if  you  were  tempted 
to  do  so,  Jean  Noel  would  know  how  to  prevent  it.  Jean 
Noel  is  the  better  part,  the  essence  of  Madame  de  Myeres. 
God  bless  you  both." 

Loose  her  hand!  No,  certainly  not.  When  certain 
thoughts  make  its  contact  painful  to  me  I  will  clasp  it 
firmly  —  and  my  rebellious  flesh  will  get  accustomed  to  it. 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  163 

Poor  little  pale  hand !     I  have  only  one  dread  now,  and 
that  is  that  it  may  be  taken  brutally  away  from  me. 

Bagnoles-de-l'Orne. 

Life  at  Bagnoles  suits  me  and  delights  me  infinitely. 
It  is  not  so  amusing  as  that  of  Aix-les-Bains,  but  it  has  a 
something  that  is  better.  I  fancy  that  I  am  the  only  one 
to  appreciate  this  something  better.  I  take  my  bath  at 
five  in  the  morning.  I  wake  up  easily  and  feel  quite  gay. 
It  amuses  me  to  go  downstairs  through  the  sleeping  hotel. 
An  omnibus  takes  us  to  the  Establishment.  It  contains 
six  persons,  who  all  arrive  more  or  less  crabby.  Ah,  we 
are  not  nice-looking,  seen  thus,  just  out  of  bed  and  in  the 
fresh  light  of  dawn.  The  drive  is  too  short,  only  a  few 
minutes.  The  beauty  of  the  morning,  which  I  so  rarely 
see,  causes  me  a  physical  enjoyment.  I  want  to  breathe 
it  in,  to  fill  my  lungs  and  my  eyes  with  it.  The  beauty 
of  night,  on  the  contrary,  touches  my  soul.  Here  the 
dawn  is  remarkably  luminous.  In  its  distilled  atmos- 
phere, the  forest,  the  peaks  of  which  are  scarcely  lighted 
up  by  the  sun,  seems  still  more  gloomy  and  mysterious. 
The  little  motionless  lake,  with  its  dark,  clear  shadows, 
looks  like  a  mirror  showing  an  abyss.  The  houses  and 
the  road  are  of  pinky  white.  The  sleeping  landscape 
gives  one  the  impression  of  something  unreal.  And  this 
morning  bloom,  different  each  day,  delights  me.  It  has 
the  brief  duration  of  all  exquisite  things.  When  I  pass 
by  again  an  hour  later  it  has  disappeared.  After  the 
bath  and  the  douche,  the  omnibus  takes  me  back  to  the 
hotel,  where  I  find  my  room  full  of  sunshine.  My  tea  is 
then  brought  to  me,  I  take  it  with  my  usual  enjoyment, 
and  after  that  I  lie  down  on  my  couch  and,  as  a  result  of 
the  mysterious  process  of  reaction,  I  fall  into  a  refreshing 
sleep.  At  half  past  eight  I  am  at  my  writing-table, 
where  I  spend  the  rest  of  my  morning.  After  luncheon 


164  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  allow  myself  a  little  chat  or  a  game  of  bridge.  I  then 
return  to  my  rooms  to  read  the  papers  and  write  letters. 
Towards  four  o'clock  I  go  for  my  glass  of  water, 
and  then  set  off  in  one  direction  or  another,  not  with  a 
light  step,  alas !  When  in  Paris  I  scarcely  exercise  my 
locomotive  muscles,  so  that  when  I  arrive  in  the  country, 
or  at  a  watering-place,  I  am  obliged  to  train  myself  to 
walking.  It  is  so  true  that  we  can  obtain  a  great  deal 
from  our  body,  even  when  it  is  old,  that  after  a  few  days 
I  can  take  good  walks.  Very  few  people  go  to  the  casi- 
no. We  have  fairly  good  music  at  the  hotel,  and  we 
spend  the  evenings  scattered  about  in  the  drawing-rooms 
and  hall  or  on  the  terrace.  The  scene  is  pleasant  to  look 
at  and  the  place  well  lighted.  The  guests  are  more  or  less 
elegant,  and  one  might  imagine  one's  self  staying  at  a 
country  house  with  the  hosts  absent. 

For  the  first  time  since  I  was  put  "  on  the  branch  " 
I  find  myself  in  entirely  French  surroundings  and,  to  my 
horror  and  sorrow,  I  recognise  that  I  am  out  of  my  ele- 
ment in  it.  When  I  talk  to  these  people  of  my  own  race 
I  shock  prejudices  which  I  had  forgotten,  I  offend  old 
ideas,  and,  in  the  falling  back  on  myself  to  which  I  am 
accustomed,  I  see  plainly  their  defects  and  their  qual- 
ities, I  feel  the  wall  at  once.  To  feel  the  wall  between 
those  one  loves,  one's  own  people,  is  terribly  painful. 
The  foreigners  I  have  met  in  the  course  of  my  peregrina- 
tions, people  frequently  in  an  influential  position,  have 
welcomed  me,  received  me  and  invited  me.  My  com- 
patriots, on  the  contrary,  have  treated  me  with  a  certain 
reserve.  The  nomadic  and  cosmopolitan  woman  I  now 
am  does  not  inspire  them  with  much  confidence.  They 
particularly  disapprove  of  my  way  of  living.  The 
other  day,  hi  the  midst  of  a  conversation,  the  theme  of 
which  was  domestics,  my  neighbour  turned  to  me  — 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  165 

"  As  you  have  no  house,  this  cannot  interest  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  disdainful  smile. 

A  provincial  woman  then  added,  with  an  expressive 
click  of  her  knitting-needles  — 

"  One  ought  to  have  one's  house,  parish  and  charities." 

I  at  once  felt  annihilated,  for  I  do  not  possess  any  of 
these  things  which  constitute  social  respectability.  I  do 
not  even  pay  taxes  now.  I  took  care  not  to  confess  it, 
but  must  own  that  this  rather  humiliates  me.  My  civic 
pride  obliges  me  to  give,  indirectly,  every  year  the 
amount  which  I  think  that  I  owe  to  the  community. 
Should  I  like  to  be  connected  once  more  with  the  world? 
Frankly,  I  must  say  that  I  should  not.  This  is  an  ex- 
ample of  contentment  with  one's  station  in  life.  I  only 
hope  it  is  given  to  all  creatures  as  it  is  to  me. 

Bagnolts-de-VOrne. 

The  Grand  Hotel  is  crowded.  I  have,  before  my  eyes, 
gathered  together,  as  though  for  psychological  study, 
specimens  of  the  aristocracy  and  of  upper  and  lower 
middle  classes,  the  three  upper  layers  of  society.  It 
really  is  as  though  individuals  had  been  arranged  in 
layers,  like  the  geological  ground.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
they  all  have  a  share  of  common  elements,  but  these 
elements,  worked  and  mixed  differently,  make  them  in- 
conceivably varied.  ^Nature  has  not  yet  arrived  at  the 
amalgamation  which  will  give  fraternity;  far  from  it. 
These  French  people  who  have  been  gathered  under  the 
same  roof  by  similar  ills,  who  ask  for  health  from  the 
same  spring,  who  meet  twenty  times  a  day,  do  not  know 
each  other  and  do  not  mix  with  each  other.  Although 
they  do  not  wear  on  their  breast  the  sacred  badge  of  their 
caste,  like  the  Hindoos,  it  is  visible  in  their  education,  in 
their  persons,  in  their  whole  bearing,  and  it  separates 


166  ON  THE  BRANCH 

them  implacably.  There  is  envy  felt  by  them,  and  there 
are  hereditary  rancours.  I  observe  these  groups,  which 
are  so  profoundly  distinct,  with  curiosity.  The  aristo- 
cratic clan  takes  meals  at  the  restaurant  and  passes  the 
evenings  in  the  corridors  or  in  the  hall.  If  some  members 
should  enter  the  drawing-room  to  look  at  the  newspapers, 
they  never  stay  long ;  they  are  driven  away  by  the  nerv- 
ous irritation  that  hostile  surroundings  always  cause.  In 
this  clan  everyone  is  well  bred.  In  spite  of  crutches  and 
canes,  the  men  take  off  their  hats  as  they  pass  through 
the  reading-room,  whilst  the  "  Papa's  sons,"  of  bourgeois 
race,  would  never  think  of  raising  it  if  they  had  four 
hands  free.  The  bourgeois  clan  is  certainly  less  refined, 
but  it  has  superior  force  and  more  vitality.  Thanks  to 
automobiles,  we  have  a  large  number  of  masculine  vis- 
itors, journalists,  members  of  Parliament,  manufacturers. 
The  forthcoming  elections  excite  them.  I  hear  political 
discussions  every  day.  Like  those  c .'  the  Chamber,  they 
give  me  the  painful,  humiliating  impression  that  France 
has  become  a  kind  of  safe,  from  which  each  person  may 
take,  but  which  no  one  thinks  of  filling  up  again.  And 
it  is  not  for  France  that  people  are  working,  but  either 
for  the  Republic,  the  Monarchy,  or  the  Empire.  Under 
the  influence  of  these  petty  ambitions  France  can  only 
lose  all  that  was  imposing  about  it  and  become  bourgeois. 
Foreigners  ask  me  the  meaning  of  this  word  bourgeois 
that  we  generally  fling  out  with  a  marked  accent  of  dis- 
dain. I  am  always  puzzled  to  explain  it  to  them.  The 
dictionary  says  it  means  "  common,"  "  undistinguished." 
It  is  not  quite  that,  though.  Bourgeoisism,  like  provin~ 
cialism,  is  a  mentality.  To  be  it  represents  a  fruit- 
stone  without  pulp,  and  it  evidently  belongs  to  the  pot-au- 
feu  cell.  It  is  one  of  the  props  of  society,  and  mere  props 
are  never  either  beautiful  or  graceful.  Without  it  I  do 
not  know  how  the  world  would  keep  its  equilibrium,  and 


BAGNOLES  DE-L'ORNE  167 

with  it,  alone,  I  do  not  know  either  how  it  would  progress. 
It  gives  to  individuals  a  shell-like  impenetrability.  One 
finds  certain  characteristics  of  it  in  people  who  have  re- 
ceived a  good  education,  who  have  superior  culture,  and 
with  whom  taste  and  a  sense  of  beauty  are  developed. 
It  betrays  itself  by  petty  ideas,  hopeless  intolerance,  blind 
obstinacy,  and  especially  by  an  incapacity  to  understand 
liberty  and  to  give  it  generously.  This  mentality  creates 
a  particular  atmosphere  that  is  immediately  felt.  The 
peasant,  the  workman  and  the  artist  are  not  bourgeois. 
I  could  mention  a  king  who  is  more  so  than  people  born 
in  the  Rue  du  Sentier.  Napoleon  I.  was  bourgeois, 
Napoleon  II.  was  not.  Balzac,  Guy  de  Maupassant  were 
not  bourgeois,  but  Zola  was.  Two  of  our  important 
newspapers  and  one  of  our  best  reviews  are  bourgeois. 
The  church  of  St.  Augustine  is  bourgeois,  St.  Roch  is 
not.  The  Comedie  Francaise,  the  Opera  Comique  the 
Palais-Royal,  are  all  bourgeois',  the  Vaudeville  the 
Varietes,  the  Theatre  Antoine,  the  cafes-concerts  of 
Montmartre  are  not.  The  tea-rooms  are  all  bourgeois, 
except  one.  England,  Italy,  Spain  are  not  bourgeois, 
Germany  is,  but  its  Emperor  is  not.  France  is  in  danger 
of  becoming  so,  and  it  is  that  which  distresses  me.  France 
bourgeois!  —  Heaven  forbid ! 

From  what  I  see  and  hear  at  this  place  I  realise  the 
difficulty  that  foreigners  have  in  understanding  us. 
They  cannot  understand  that  difference  of  character, 
which  is  the  individual  nature,  and  that  difference  of  soul, 
which  is  the  essence  of  the  race.  The  French  themselves 
are  not  chary  of  saying,  "  We  have  a  difficult  charac- 
ter." That  is  true,  but  we  have  a  noble  and  wonderful 
soul.  I  feel  this  all  around  me.  At  certain  moments 
this  soul  shines  out  on  all  faces,  it  bursts  out  in  generous 
words,  it  clears  the  atmosphere  laden  with  rancour,  with 
political  passions.  It  is  in  this  that  my  hope  of  good  and 


168  ON  THE  BRANCH 

of  improvement  lies.     The  feminine  element  is  well  rep- 
resented at  the  Grand  Hotel  of  Bagnoles.     I  study  it  cu- 
riously, and  am  surprised  to  see  that  it  has  remained  al- 
most stationary.     As  in  my  time,  I  see  girls  who  dream 
and    grandmothers    telling   their    beads    or    grumbling. 
Sentiment,  sentimentality,  all  that  is  feminine,  the  or- 
dinary charity,  and  nothing  else  as  yet.     Not  a  single 
aspiration  towards  a  wider  life,  not  a  sign  of  individ- 
uality.    In   these   surroundings   I   am   almost   ashamed 
of  my  modernism.     Accustomed  as  I  am  to  the  frank 
ways  of  the  Englishwoman,  to  the  open  mind  of  the 
American  woman,  the  French  girl,  is  to  me  an  anachron- 
ism.    She  gives  me  the  impression  of  a  plant  which  has 
never  had  enough  air  and  water,  and  which  has  difficulty 
in  breathing.     Slow  and  languid,  she  does  not  feel  the 
mere  joy  of  living,  the  need  of  action.      She  tries  sports, 
in  order  to  sacrifice  to  fashion,  but  her  body,  badly 
trained  for  it,  protests.     The  knowledge  with  which  her 
brain  has  been  crammed,  does  not  make  ideas  germinate 
there,  and  does  not  give  her  the  desire  to  know  still  more. 
She  seems  to  me  tired,  satiated,   artificial  already.     I 
should  like  to  take  her  into  the  forest,  to  the  mountain 
or  to  the  sea-side  in  order  to  put  her  in  direct  contact 
with  all  the  divine  forces  of  Nature.     I  should  like,  too, 
to  take  her  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Italy,  to   Spain,  and 
through  France,  so  that  she  might  know  the  treasures  of 
beauty  which  are  our  inheritance.     When  I  watch  her, 
her  needle  plying  backwards  and  forwards  through  a 
piece  of  silk  or  canvas,  I  long  to  shake  her.     I  know  what 
she  is  dreaming  about.     Without  being  aware  of  it  her- 
self, she  is  already  subjected  to  the  possession  of  man. 
Her  thoughts  wander  towards  the  mystery  that  she  sus- 
pects, disturbing  images  are  formed  in  her  mind,  and  the 
warm  breath  of  instinct  tarnishes  the  first  bloom  of  her 
being.     Mothers  ought  to  remember.     Mothers!     They 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  169 

think  of  nothing  but  of  guarding  their  daughters,  of  giv- 
ing them  a  liberal  dowry  and  of  arranging  a  rich  mar- 
riage for  them.  They  spoil  their  sons  in  the  hope  of  at- 
taching them  to  themselves,  and  of  thus  winning  them 
from  their  future  rival,  the  daughter-in-law.  This  is  ma- 
ternity as  practised  still  with  us  in  the  twentieth  century. 

The  other  day  I  was  imprudent  enough  to  express  the 
desire  of  seeing  the  French  girl  come  out  of  her  groove, 
take  part  in  life  and  bring  into  it  the  fresh  forces  of  her 
heart  and  mind. 

"  It  is  her  emancipation  that  you  would  like,  then?  " 
said  a  fond  mother  with  a  scandalised  air. 

"  Yes,  but  not  before  she  has  been  prepared  for  it  by 
education,  and,  above  all  things,  not  before  mothers  have 
educated  their  sons  to  have  an  absolute  respect  for 
woman,  and  changed  the  wolves  into  shepherds." 

"  Wolves  into  shepherds !  "  exclaimed  a  pretty  Pari- 
sian woman.  "  And  what  about  instinct  —  and  Na- 
ture?" 

"  American  women  have  discovered  the  secret  of  dis- 
ciplining them.  They  are  the  only  women  who  love  their 
own  sex." 

"  Then  they  are  not  women,"  answered  my  interloc- 
utor briefly. 

"  And  then  France  is  not  America !  "  declared  an  old 
lady  in  a  cutting  tone. 

That  fact  clinched  me.  I  felt  the  wall  again  and 
I  was  silent.  I  will  venture  to  say  that  the  Japanese 
woman  will  have  accomplished  her  evolution  before  the 
Latin  woman. 

Bagnoles-de-l'Ome. 

Bagnoles  is  not  bourgeois.  From  a  picturesque  point 
of  view  I  ought  not  to  regret  that  it  should  be  in  the 
practical  hands  of  my  compatriots,  and  I  am  delighted 


170  ON  THE  BRANCH 

to  see  its  heights  crowned  by  chateaux  instead  of  by 
vulgar  inns.  Nature  employs  the  English,  the  Swiss  and 
the  Germans  for  its  works  of  public  utility,  but  it  gives 
to  the  Latins  its  choice  hunting-grounds,  the  places  of 
beauty  that  it  wishes  to  keep  as  they  are  here  below. 
With  the  exception  of  three  rather  long  excursions  that 
I  am  keeping  for  October,  I  have  explored  the  environs 
on  foot  or  driving,  and  in  this  small  place,  situated 
on  the  borders  of  Maine,  Normandy  and  Brittany.  I 
have  felt  distinctly  the  force  of  the  North,  the  obscure 
and  religious  thought  of  the  West,  and  the  gay  mild- 
ness of  the  Centre  of  France.  Its  forest,  its  strange 
rocks,  its  Druidic  stones,  its  good  fairy,  Andaine,  its 
evil  fairy,  Gione,  its  saints,  its  heroic  legends,  its  mas- 
sive chateaux  lend  to  it  an  undeniable  dignity,  an  intense 
charm.  At  times  it  seems  as  though  there  is  a  soul  in 
the  wind  which  caresses  you.  Several  times  its  contact 
has  startled  me.  The  country  round,  too,  gives  an  im- 
pression of  richness,  of  fecundity.  I  am  no  longer  sur- 
prised that  the  peasants  are  able  to  treat  themselves 
to  luncheon  at  the  Grand  Hotel. 

To-day  I  took  a  road,  running  parallel  with  the  rail- 
way, for  the  first  time.  I  had  disdained  it  on  account 
of  this  proximity,  and  it  gave  me  a  very  interesting  after- 
noon. It  skirts  the  forest,  passes  at  the  back  of  the 
race-course  and,  with  a  very  gradual  ascent,  goes  up 
above  the  valley.  After  walking  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  I  came  across  some  trees,  on  the  branches  of  which 
were  little  stones.  I  thought  it  must  be  some  child's 
game,  but  there  were  more  and  more  of  them  and  I 
stopped  short,  amazed,  when  I  came  to  a  spot  where  all 
the  trees  were  laden  with  them.  The  effect  of  these 
pebbles  up  in  the  air  amongst  the  foliage  was  fantastic, 
and  I  understood  that  it  meant  something  more  than 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  171 

play.  I  asked  an  old  peasant  woman  why  they  were 
there. 

"  They  are  St.  Ortaire's  stones,"  she  answered ;  "  a 
very  good  saint  who  cures  the  '  rheumatics.'  He  has  his 
chapel  five  minutes  from  here.  People  make  pilgrimages 
to  it  and,  on  coming  down  again,  every  person  places 
a  stone  j  ust  as  high  as  his  own  suffering  is.  I  have  put 
one  for  my  knees.  Would  Madame  like  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  answered,  very  much  interested.  I 
followed  the  good  woman,  and  she  pointed  out  a  pebble 
in  the  first  forked  branch  of  a  beech. 

"  There  it  is,"  she  said,  with  a  complacent  air.  "  The 
men  say  that  it's  all  nonsense.  Now-a-days  they've  no 
more  faith  than  the  animals.  Anyhow,  my  *  rheumatics  ' 
have  gone,  and  I  walk  without  a  stick." 

I  looked  round  and  saw  that  there  were  pebbles  as 
low  as  the  ground,  the  mark  of  painful  feet,  no  doubt; 
others  were  placed  as  high  as  the  knees,  the  shoulders,  the 
forehead.  I  was  astonished  that  they  should  stay  where 
they  were  put,  and  that  no  one  had  been  tempted  to  dis- 
turb them.  The  peasant  woman  lifted  her  chin. 

"  No  danger,"  she  exclaimed,  "  anyone  who  touches 
them  would  get  the  disease  of  those  who  put  them  there. 
They  know  that  —  all  the  bad  boys,  fortunately." 

The  sight  of  these  strange  ex-votos  hypnotised  me 
for  a  few  minutes.  Each  one  represented  human  suf- 
fering and  hope,  and  there  were  hundreds  of  them.  I 
would  not  for  anything  in  the  world  have  laid  hands 
on  one;  not  because  of  any  fear  of  punishment,  but 
out  of  mere  respect.  I  was  curious  now  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  St.  Ortaire.  I  continued  my  way  until 
I  arrived  at  the  little  hamlet  bearing  his  name.  It  is 
right  at  the  top,  admirably  situated.  I  first  came  to 
two  houses  of  the  b&wrgeoi*  type.  On  the  ground-floor 


172  ON  THE  BRANCH 

of  the  nearest  a  placard  attracted  my  attention  and, 
to  my  surprise,  I  saw  a  list  of  works  of  abstruse 
philosophy  mentioned  upon  it,  with  the  following  words 
at  the  foot :  "  Apply  to  the  author  at  the  villa  oppo- 
site." The  idea  of  this  puff,  placed  behind  the  window 
of  a  room  full  of  potatoes,  seemed  to  me  delightfully 
naive.  I  made  inquiries  and  was  told  that  the  author 
was  a  priest.  His  dwelling,  in  the  warm  sunshine,  on 
the  borders  of  the  forest,  made  me  think  of  Jocelyn. 
I  rang  the  bell  there,  intending  to  get  his  works.  He 
was  absent,  so  that  I  decided  to  come  again.  St.  Or- 
taire  is  only  a  group  of  about  half  a  dozen  houses, 
in  the  midst  of  which  the  rubbish  heap  ferments 
and  the  liquid  manure  runs.  There  is  not  a  single 
climbing  plant,  not  an  attempt  at  beautifying  the  place. 
In  England  all  the  cottages  would  have  had  flowers.  I 
could  not  help  regretting  that  the  good  priest  who  lives 
there  should  not  attend  to  hygiene  rather  than  phi- 
losophy. I  asked  a  woman,  who  had  just  been  milking, 
for  a  cup  of  milk,  and  I  went  into  her  kitchen,  which 
was  large  and  which  also  served  as  a  bedroom,  for  I 
noticed  a  bed  in  it.  The  table  was  covered  with  vege- 
table parings,  the  unwashed  crockery  was  on  the  sink, 
and  the  brick  floor  had  not  been  swept.  The  flour 
bowl  in  which  she  gave  me  the  milk  seemed  to  be  clean, 
though,  and  when  she  opened  her  large  Norman  ward- 
robe, to  get  change  for  my  two-franc  piece  I  saw 
piles  of  very  white  linen,  arranged  in  the  most  orderly 
way.  Her  housekeeping  pride  was,  no  doubt,  in  that. 
Two  little  boys  came  running  in,  each  with  a  piece  of 
bread-and-butter  in  his  hand.  One  of  them  seized  a 
pitcher  of  cider,  drank  from  it  and  then  gave  it  to  his 
brother. 

"You  let  those  little  ones  drink  cider  like  that?"  I 
said,  horrified.     "Why  not  give  them  milk?" 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  173 

"  Because  the  milk  sells  better ;  we  never  have  enough." 

I  spoke  to  her  of  the  danger  of  letting  children  take 
fermented  drinks,  but  she  only  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Those  are  all  doctor's  stories,"  she  said,  with  a  dis- 
dainful accent.  "  They  know  nothing  at  all  about  it." 

I  thought  it  was  useless  to  add  another  word  on  the 
subject.  I  asked  her  whether  in  the  winter  the  people 
of  the  village  met  together  in  the  evenings. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered,  "  everyone  stays  at  home  and 
like  that  there  is  no  quarreling.  Besides  there  are  only 
three  families  belonging  here;  the  others  are  all  work- 
men and  Italians,  and  so  we  don't  have  anything  to  do 
with  them !  " 

There  was  a  sample  of  "  our  difficult  character." 

On  leaving  my  typical  Norman  woman,  I  went  in  the 
direction  of  the  little  chapel.  With  its  fa9ade  covered 
by  an  enormous  rose-tree,  and  its  rustic  steeple,  it  re- 
lieves the  surrounding  ugliness  by  a  little  poetry.  Quite 
small  and  gloomy,  it  is  inhabited  by  St.  Radegonde 
and  St.  Ortaire,  whose  polychrome  statues  are,  as  usual, 
little  honour  to  religious  art.  I  sat  down  in  front  of 
the  altar,  and  was  soon  penetrated  by  that  atmosphere 
peculiar  to  Catholic  churches,  which  makes  all  images, 
impressions  and  sentiments  so  curiously  keen.  My  dis- 
tress about  Madame  d'Hauterive  was  painfully  inten- 
sified. The  date  of  the  terrible  trial  was  approaching. 
With  each  of  the  letters,  so  full  of  hope  I  had  a  fresh 
pang  at  my  heart.  "  My  little  Colette."  This  expres- 
sion of  olden  days  escaped  my  lips  and  there  was  an 
echo  of  it  in  the  silence  of  the  sanctuary.  "My  little 
Colette,"  and,  unconsciously,  my  eyes  looked  up  in 
prayer  to  the  placid  face  of  the  healing  saint.  If 
I  had  returned  to  Bagnoles  by  the  road  I  should, 
perhaps,  have  put  a  stone  for  him  on  the  trees,  but  I  took 
a  zig-zag  path  through  the  forest.  The  sun,  which 


174  ON  THE  BRANCH 

was  already  low,  touched  the  foot  of  the  trees  obliquely 
and  threw  golden  rings  into  the  foliage.  The  tall  ferns, 
which  the  breeze  did  not  stir,  made  an  impression  on  me 
by  their  very  stillness.  In  spite  of  myself  I  quickened 
my  steps,  and  was  honestly  glad  when  I  found  myself 
once  more  on  the  open  road  opposite  the  station  and 
the  Grand  Hotel. 

Bagnoles-de-l  'Orne. 

"  Operation,  admirable  success.  Mother  as  well  a*, 
possible.  So  glad  —  Could  kiss  everybody." 

This  is  the  telegram  I  have  just  received  from  Guy. 
It  caused  me  unmixed  joy  —  unmixed.  I  am  glad  to 
repeat  it,  for  it  is  the  truth  —  God  be  praised ! 

Bagnoles-de-l' Orne. 

I  knew  it  —  Oh,  I  knew  it !  She  was  not  to  live  —  she 
could  not  live.  She  had  to  disappear,  and  I  felt  this 
vaguely.  Two  telegrams  from  Uncle  Georges  arrived 
forty-eight  hours  after  Guy's.  The  first  said :  "  Peri- 
tonitis. Colette  very  ill."  The  second :  "  Taken  from 
us  within  a  few  hours."  This  news  caused  me  the  same 
pain  as  a  violent  blow ;  it  was  as  though  something  had 
snapped.  Yes,  it  had  been  really  renewed  again,  the 
bond  between  us,  and  more  firmly  than  I  had  thought.  I 
felt  an  irresistible  need  of  seeing  her  again,  of  accom- 
panying her  along  that  last  piece  of  her  road  here  below. 
I  at  once  began  to  pack  my  trunk.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
though  I  were  doing  something  for  her. 

Everything  is  now  ready.  I  start  for  "  Les  Ro- 
cheilles  "  to-morrow  by  the  first  train.  I  immediately 
thought  of  that  letter  which  she  had  given  me  on  leaving. 
I  took  it  out  of  my  pocket-book  with  deep  emotion.  I 


BAGNOLES-DE-L'ORNE  175 

do  not  know  anything  so  pathetic  as  the  handwriting 
of  a  dead  person.  The  handwriting !  The  form  of  the 
person's  thought,  intangible,  but  always  living  —  im- 
mortal too.  I  did  not  dare  open  this  envelope,  which 
bore  the  name  of  Jean  Noel  —  I  guessed  the  request 
that  it  contained. 

I  was  right;  it  was  just  that.  She  asks  me  to  watch 
over  Guy,  to  be  his  friend,  his  adviser,  to  get  him  out 
of  the  hands  of  the  woman  who  holds  him  —  to  find  a 
wife  for  him !  After  reading  it  I  exclaimed  aloud  — 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot ;  it  is  impossible."  Out  of 
Madame  de  Myeres  and  Jean  Noel  there  is  not  material 
to  make  a  really  superior  being,  a  being  capable  of 
this  supreme  effort.  Poor  Colette!  She  little  thought 
how  much  I  loved  her,  and  how  I  hate  my  husband's 
son.  She  little  imagined  all  that  so  complex  a  senti- 
ment could  produce.  She  finishes  by  telling  me  that 
she  shall  go  away  with  the  consolation  of  having  placed 
Guy  under  good  influence,  and  knowing  that  he  has  a 
better  friend  than  his  mother.  Oh  God,  where  am  I 
to  get  the  strength  necessary  for  carrying  out  the 
wishes  of  a  dying  woman! 


PARIS 

Hotel  de  Castiglione,  Paris. 

AH,  it  has  turned  quickly  for  me,  the  "  Wheel  of 
Things,"  since  my  departure  from  Paris  at  the  end  of 
July.  This  acceleration  of  movement  has  stirred  me 
to  the  very  depths  of  my  being.  It  is  now  more  than 
a  fortnight  since  I  left  "  Les  Rocheilles  "  and  my  soul 
is  still  vibrating  with  grief  and  emotion.  "  Les  Ro- 
cheilles ! "  The  home  that  was  formerly  so  dear  to 
me,  so  hospitable  and  so  gay.  I  entered  it  again  after 
fifteen  years  of  estrangement  in  the  double  silence  of 
deafch  and  night.  Uncle  Georges  came  to  the  station 
for  me.  The  way  in  which  he  welcomed  me,  the  accent 
with  which  he  said  to  me :  "1  am  glad  you  have  come, 
she  is  waiting  for  you,"  made  me  imagine  that  he  had 
suspected  the  cause  of  our  rupture.  During  the  drive 
I  heard  the  details  of  the  catastrophe.  The  operation 
had  been  very  satisfactory  and  then,  as  so  often  happens, 
a  mere  nothing,  something  impossible  to  have  foreseen, 
brought  on  peritonitis.  She  did  not  feel  that  she  was 
dying.  She  was  taken  off  in  a  fit  of  pain,  and  she 
was  now  "  waiting  for  me,"  to  use  the  expression  of 
M.  d'Hauterive.  Guy  would  not  have  her  put  in  the 
coffin  until  I  arrived.  I  found  her  still  on  her  bed  and 
he  was  watching  beside  her.  Suffering  had  aged  the 
young  man's  face,  accentuated  in  such  a  way  the  re- 
semblance, that  I  started  back  involuntarily.  On  seeing 

176 


PARIS  177 

me  again  he  could  not  utter  a  word.  His  tearful  affec- 
tionate eyes  looked  from  his  mother  to  me  with  such 
a  pathetic  expression  that  my  heart  was  full  of  pity. 
I  had  stopped  in  Paris  to  get  some  white  carnations 
and  roses,  Colette's  favourite  flowers.  I  placed  them 
tenderly  on  her  breast  and  on  her  feet  and  then,  turn- 
ing to  Guy,  I  said :  "  Let  me  finish  the  night  with  her. 
We  still  have  so  many  things  to  say  to  each  other." 
He  bent  his  head  in  answer,  raised  my  hand  to  his  lips, 
and  then  went  away.  We  remained  alone  together,  the 
dead  woman  and  I.  With  her  dress  of  ivory  white  satin, 
the  hood  of  fine  lace  drawn  over  her  hair,  she  looked 
as  though  she  were  ready  for  some  fete.  The  delicate 
oval  of  her  face,  the  long  black  eyelashes  lowered, 
the  arched  curves  of  the  mouth,  gave  her  an  expression 
of  feminine  frailty.  This  was  a  revelation,  a  supreme 
excuse.  Seized  with  remorse  at  the  remembrance  of 
my  hardness  I  bent  over  her,  kissed  her  forehead,  her 
pretty  hand  and  knelt  down,  repeating  aloud :  "  My 
dear  little  Colette !  My  dear  little  Colette !"  At  this 
moment  it  appeared  to  me  that  something  stirred  the 
atmosphere  around  me,  that  a  circular  wave  enveloped 
me.  Was  it  the  wind  coming  in  through  the  open 
window?  I  do  not  know,  but  for  the  second  time  in 
my  existence  I  had  the  distinct  sensation  of  an  imma- 
terial presence,  and  I  shuddered.  I  looked  eagerly  at 
the  motionless  face  of  Madame  d'Hauterive.  It  was 
motionless,  but  not  rigid.  There  was  a  living  gentle- 
ness on  it,  an  expression  of  peace,  which  was  certainly 
the  last  ray  from  her  soul.  And  it  was  good  to  say 
to  myself  that  she  was,  perhaps,  still  there.  Death! 
Only  the  end  of  a  chapter.  The  romance,  I  am  sure, 
will  continue  through  eternity  and  it  will  get  more  full 
of  love,  beauty  and  light. 

At  break  of  day  she  was  placed  in  the  coffin,  "my 


178  ON  THE  BRANCH 

little  Colette,  and  towards  eleven  o'clock  we  took  her 
to  the  cemetery  here,  where  the  dead  have  an  ideal 
resting-place.  Provincial  funerals,  the  rites  of  which 
I  have  forgotten,  have  a  veritable  grandeur  in  their 
simplicity.  Owners  of  the  chateaux  in  the  environs,  and 
middle-class  people,  peasants,  poor  folks  had  all  come 
from  miles  round  to  accompany  the  Baroness  d'Hau- 
terive  to  her  last  home.  From  my  window  I  could  see 
carriages,  carts,  people  in  mourning  and  with  the  white 
head-gear  peculiar  to  that  part  of  the  world,  arriving 
along  the  roads.  The  village  church  was  too  small 
to  hold  everyone.  The  doors  were  left  open,  and  the 
crowd,  massed  in  the  square,  could  thus  follow  the  service. 
The  cemetery  dominates  the  whole  valley,  its  white  walls, 
its  black  yews  rising  up  on  the  top  of  a  hill  planted  with 
vines.  It  is  reached  by  a  rather  steep  path,  broken  by 
steps  at  intervals,  and  the  bodies  are  carried  on  the 
men's  shoulders.  Behind  the  family,  represented  by 
Uncle  Georges,  his  sister  and  me,  the  long  procession 
followed,  absolutely  quiet  and  serious.  It  almost  en- 
tirely filled  the  immense  "  field  of  the  dead."  There  was 
not  a  word,  not  a  whisper,  all  heads  were  uncovered  or 
bent.  There  were  tears,  prayers  for  the  dead,  an  ex- 
teriorisation  of  sympathy  and  of  regret  most  sweet  to 
see  and  to  feel.  The  final  benediction  was  pronounced 
amidst  silence  so  profound,  that  from  the  neighbouring 
bush,  a  little  bird  ventured  to  give  responses,  and 
its  pure,  clear  song  rose  like  a  prayer.  In  this  separa- 
tion, an  ordeal  which  is  forced  upon  us,  there  is  a 
certain  moment  of  infinite  pain:  it  is  when  we  are 
obliged  to  leave  our  dead  in  the  dark  grave,  in  the 
solitude  of  the  cemetery.  As  though  the  fleshly  bonds 
were  not  quite  broken,  our  dear  one  holds  us,  calls  us 
back,  and  we  cannot  help  feeling  a  kind  of  remorse 


PARIS  179 

when  we  return  alone  to  the  warm,  living  house.  I  felt 
all  that  for  Colette. 

According  to  the  custom,  after  the  funeral  ceremony, 
a  meal,  composed  of  very  simple  dishes,  was  served  to 
all  who  had  come  from  a  distance,  rich  and  poor  alike. 
This  love  feast  is  like  a  symbol  of  fraternity  in  sor- 
row. There  is  something  good  about  the  provinces. 
In  the  important  circumstances  of  life  they  are  better 
than  Paris.  One  feels  that  there  is  more  reality,  more 
depth  of  feeling.  Several  people  recognised  me  and 
appeared  surprised  at  my  presence,  and  I  was  pained 
and  rather  embarrassed  at  this. 

When  all  was  over  at  "  Les  Rocheilles "  Guy  ac- 
companied me  to  my  rooms.  During  this  cruel  day 
he  had  put  a  brave  face  on.  His  grief  had  only  be- 
trayed itself  by  the  extreme  rigidity  of  his  expression 
and  the  hoarseness  of  his  voice.  As  my  little  friend 
Lily  would  have  said,  "  he  had  choked  down  his  tears," 
and  many  tears,  too.  As  soon  as  we  were  alone,  his 
heroism  appeared  to  leave  him.  He  threw  his  arms 
round  my  neck  and  I  longed  to  console  him.  My  heart 
was  full  of  tenderness  and  of  affectionate  words,  and 
yet  I  remained  inert,  mute,  stiffening  myself  with  all 
the  evil  forces  of  my  being. 

"  God-mother,  oh,  god-mother,"  he  repeated,  leaning 
against  me  like  a  baby. 

"  Poor  boy,"  I  murmured,  touched  finally  by  his 
child-like  lament,  by  his  accent  of  distress. 

His  arms  were  still  round  me  and  I  freed  myself 
gently  and  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  If  ever  you  need  a  friend,"  I  said,  "  you  will  come 
straight  to  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Guy  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  in  which  aston- 
ishment and  reproach  were  mingled. 


180  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  I  need  one  now,  god-mother,"  he  answered.  "  I 
shall  always  need  one.  Men  who  have  had  a  mother 
like  mine  know  the  value  of  a  woman's  heart.  They 
can  never  afterwards  do  without  it." 

Then,  drawing  himself  up  with  a  fresh  eifort  of 
courage,  he  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  am  selfish,"  he  observed.  "  You  must  be  worn 
out  with  fatigue.  I  will  let  you  rest." 

He  glanced  round  the  room  to  see  that  everything 
was  there  for  my  comfort.  He  then  drew  the  couch 
up  to  the  hearth  where  a  wood  fire  had  been  lighted 
and  arranged  the  cushions  on  it. 

"  Lie  down  here,"  he  said,  "  I  will  send  your  tea 
up."  He  then  added :  "  Thank  you  for  coming.  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  you  with  us." 

With  these  words  he  went  away,  his  tread  instinctively 
muffled.  I  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
ashamed  of  my  coldness.  Poor  boy!  These  words 
came  to  my  lips  and  they  were  all  I  had  found  to  say- 
by  way  of  consolation  to  Colette's  son.  Yes,  but  to 
the  son  of  my  husband,  too. 

I  stayed  three  days  at  "  Les  Rocheilles."  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  owed  it  to  my  cousin  not  to  leave 
her  dwelling  immediately,  for  she  is  still  so  living  there. 
I  made  the  acquaintance  again  of  Robert,  her  eldest 
son.  I  had  seen  him  last  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  I 
find  him  now  a  man  of  thirty.  Of  medium  height,  very 
dark,  distinguished-looking,  and  with  plenty  of  muscle, 
he  has  all  the  characteristics  of  one  of  our  best  races, 
and  I  felt  a  curious  pleasure  in  seeing  that  lie  was 
quite  a  d'Hauterive.  He  is  engaged  to  a  very  rich  and 
pretty  heiress  in  the  neighbourhood.  His  intention  is 
to  leave  the  army  and  to  take  his  place  in  the  country. 
TJncle  George  feels  the  loss  of  his  sister-in-law  very 
keenly.  He  had  lived  under  the  charm  of  her  pleasant 


PARIS  181 

disposition  and  kindliness.  He  understood  her  so  well 
that  he  excused  everything  always.  Without  making 
any  allusion  to  our  estrangement,  he  has  shown  me 
several  times  over  his  joy  at  seeing  me  again.  We 
conversed  together  as  though  we  had  only  left  each 
other  the  day  before.  I  have  never  missed  reading  the 
delightful  article,  entitled  "  Life  in  the  country,"  which 
he  writes  every  week  in  an  important  evening  paper. 
It  -is  by  him  that  I  have  always  been  kept  informed  of 
the  return  of  the  swallows  and  the  migratory  birds. 
His  appreciation  of  my  novels  gave  me  real  satisfac- 
tion. Mademoiselle  Marthe  d'Hauterive,  his  sister,  a 
very  original  old  spinster  whom  we  used  to  call  "  the 
Canoness,"  did  not  fail  to  show  her  surprise  at  my 
reappearance  on  the  scene.  She  has  even  tried  to 
draw  me  into  a  confession  about  my  rupture  with  my 
cousin.  Then,  too,  as  she  is  one  of  those  persons  who 
feel  it  necessary  to  let  you  know  their  way  of  thinking, 
she  told  me  that  she  disapproved  of  family  quarrels. 
More  than  this  she  owed  to  me  that  she  had  never  under- 
stood my  way  of  living  after  the  death  of  my  husband. 
Happy  Canoness !  There  are  many  things  that  she  will 
not  have  understood  in  this  world.  She  is  an  excellent 
creature,  though,  and  very  devoted  to  her  own  family. 
I  fancy  she  will  stay  at  the  "  Les  Rocheilles  "  until  her 
nephew  brings  the  new  mistress  there.  I  wanted  to  see 
something  of  Colette's  work,  the  work  commenced  a 
year  after  Guy's  birth,  twenty-four  years  ago.  I  was 
amazed  at  what  one  woman  had  been  able  to  do.  The 
village  of  C — ,  a  village  which  counts  three  hundred 
inhabitants,  had  been  entirely  reconstructed.  Every- 
thing has  been  introduced  which  is  necessary  for  facili- 
tating cleanliness  and  hygiene.  The  race,  whose  sickly 
ugliness  we  had  so  frequently  deplored,  has  improved 
in  the  most  inconceivable  manner.  The  complexions  of 


18*  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  people  are  clear,  their  eyes  bright,  their  .limbs 
straight,  tuberculosis  has  become  rare.  A  score  of 
foundling  children,  placed  in  the  most  trustworthy  fam- 
ilies by  Madame  d'Hauterive,  have  grown  up  under  her 
patronage.  Uncle  Georges  has  built,  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, a  room  for  meetings,  the  attractions  of  which 
compete  triumphantly  with  the  public-house.  By  means 
of  lectures  and  discussions,  he  has  succeeded  in  bringing 
the  masses  into  the  way  of  progress.  He  and  Madame 
d'Hauterive  have  awakened  in  the  peasants  around  a  love 
of  their  own  kind,  pride  of  their  own  race.  Hitherto 
they  had  only  been  proud  of  their  animals,  they  are 
beginning  to  be  so  of  their  children.  A  woman  said 
to  me,  lifting  up  her  head  as  she  spoke,  "  Oh,  we  have 
some  handsome  men  now,  when  the  review  takes  place." 
This  fresh  sentiment  delighted  me.  I  consider  it  an 
immense  step  forward.  And  all  that  represents  "  Co- 
lette's expiation."  And  so,  without  knowing  it,  I  have 
participated  in  this  work  of  civilisation.  A  little  of 
my  sorrow  has  entered  into  the  higher  morality,  which 
I  have  found  here.  Have  I  the  right  to  regret  my 
sorrow?  Should  I  like  to  see  the  wretched-looking 
faces  of  unhealthy  baby-children  again  such  as  those 
I  remember?  To  this  question  which  I  asked  myself 
I  was  able  to  answer,  "  No,  a  thousand  times  no," 
and,  before  leaving,  I  went  up  to  the  cemetery  with  this 
"  No  "  in  my  mind  and  heart.  I  repeated  it  very  qui- 
etly to  Colette  and  I  took  with  me  from  "  Les  Rocheilles  " 
the  conviction  that,  as  Maeterh'nck  says,  "  Evil  is  the 
good  that  we  do  not  understand." 

Paris. 

I  might  have  stopped  at  Touraine  and  spent  the  whole 
month  of  October  there,  but  I  felt  the  need  of  being 
alone,  and  so  I  returned  to  Paris. 


PARIS  183 

It  was  very  sweet  to  me  to  think  that  Colette  had 
inhabited  my  room  for  a  few  hours.  The  maid  who 
had  waited  upon  her  remembered  the  lady  with  the 
beautiful  black  eyes,  and,  when  I  told  her  of  her  death 
an  expression  of  sorrow  came  into  her  face  which 
touched  me.  Guy  gave  me  a  photograph  of  his  mother 
taken  last  year.  There  is  in  her  whole  person  an  un- 
deniable nobility,  which  revealed  to  me,  better  than 
words,  the  work  of  grief.  I  have  put  this  portrait 
facing  my  bed.  Should  I  ever  have  imagined  that  it 
would  one  day  be  there?  It  attracts  my  eyes  every 
minute.  Between  it  and  me  I  feel  a  sort  of  current 
of  warmth  and  life,  and  I  find  myself  repeating  aloud, 
"Dear  little  Colette!"  To  be  just,  I  think  I  ought 
to  say,  "Great  Colette!" 

As  soon  as  I  was  back  I  wrote  to  Sir  William  Ran' 
dolph.  He  expressed  his  sympathy  in  those  manly, 
simple  phrases  which  are  so  characteristic  of  him,  and 
which  are  so  sincere.  He  spoke  of  the  Lussons  after- 
wards. "  I  had  no  difficulty,"  he  said,  "  in  inspiring 
them  with  the  wish  to  make  your  acquaintance,  for 
they  have  read  your  novels  and  are  among  your  ad- 
mirers. They  declare  that  they  are  delighted  to  be 
allowed  to  call  on  you."  Then,  with  his  lively  banter 
he  adds :  "  I  did  not  guarantee  that  Madame  de  Myeres 
was  exactly  like  Jean  Noel  but  I  told  them  that  she  was 
nice,  very  nice.  From  them,  as  well  as  from  you,  I  shall 
now  expect  thanks."  Sir  William  insists  on  providing 
me  with  friends.  My  comparative  solitude  grieves  him. 
He  thinks  that  these  people,  my  own  country-people, 
will  be  nearer  to  me  than  foreigners.  What  kindliness 
there  is  in  this  thought.  I  lend  myself  to  his  whim 
with  a  mixture  of  dread  and  curiosity.  I  wonder  what 
will  be  the  result  of  this  acquaintanceship,  about  which 
he  is  so  keen. 


184  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Paris. 

I  had  never  seen  Paris  in  October.  I  should  not 
have  thought  that  it  could  have  had  so  provincial  a  look. 
There  is  no  question  but  that  the  idlers,  the  society 
people,  the  fine  carriages  are  decorative  and  that  they 
create  an  agreeable  atmosphere.  One  notices  this  when 
they  are  missing.  The  American  women  one  meets  at  this 
season  do  nothing  but  shopping  and  trying  on  of  dresses. 
They  are  preparing  for  their  departure  and  their  fine 
feathers  are  in  their  trunks.  The  society  people  wil] 
arrive  in  November.  The  streets  are  animated  with 
breaks  full  of  those  individuals  known  in  France  as 
"  Cook's  tourists."  This  agency  seems  to  have  been 
charged  with  the  mobilising  of  millions  of  individuals. 
The  creation  of  it  was  one  of  the  first  signs  of  the  times. 
Everyone  makes  fun  of  these  good  people.  They  in- 
spire me  with  affectionate  interest.  I  think  that  they 
are  the  collaborators  of  Providence  and  valuable  col- 
laborators too.  As  soon  as  they  have  earned  money,  the 
irresistible  desire  comes  to  them  to  travel,  to  see  beau- 
tiful things,  to  know  the  consecrated  places  of  earth. 
Without  being  aware  of  it,  they  are  storing  up  impres- 
sions which  will  develop  their  mentality,  and  this  they 
will  give  out  around  them  and  transmit  to  their  chil- 
dren. Is  not  the  past  destined  to  urge  on  the  present 
and  aliment  the  future?  The  other  day  in  the  Place 
Vendome  I  saw  a  break  full  of  Cook's  travellers  pull 
up  at  the  column.  The  guide  gave  a  short  but  clear 
history  of  it  in  a  loud  voice.  All  those  eyes,  which  had 
come  from  so  far,  were  rivetted  on  the  bronze  shaft, 
with  an  expression  of  ardent  curiosity,  and  the  memory 
of  Napoleon,  evoked  by  it,  breught  to  those  common 
faces  a  certain  radiance,  a  flash  of  emotion.  The  tragic 
image  of  the  hero  was  probably  photographed  in  some 
cell  of  their  brains.  What  was  this  to  produce?  Ah, 


PARIS  185 

it  is  no  use  asking  that.  I  realised  the  occult  work, 
though,  and  it  stirred  me  with  admiration.  I  felt  a 
sentiment  of  respect  for  those  in  whom  it  was  being 
accomplished.  In  truth  the  gods  seem  to  be  preparing, 
here  below,  a  most  wonderful  work.  They  are  deliver- 
ing over  to  us,  one  by  one,  their  secrets,  giving  us  new 
forces,  putting  us  into  closer  communion.  They  employ 
great  and  small  means  for  accelerating  our  cerebral  ac- 
tivity. The  invention  of  picture  postcards,  for  instance, 
had  no  other  end  in  view,  I  daresay,  than  to  multiply 
images.  This  month,  the  views  I  have  received  are 
strangely  different:  Darjiling,  in  India,  with  its  chain 
of  snowy  peaks,  the  marble  palace  of  Mr.  Belmont 
at  Newport;  a  certain  district  of  New  York  with  build- 
ings of  twenty-two  storys,  the  Palisades  of  the  Hudson,  a 
peaceful  street  in  a  Touraine  village;  an  old  church. 
Each  one  of  these  cards  provoked  different  sensations, 
gave  birth  in  me  to  a  crowd  of  thoughts  and  reflec- 
tions, and  nothing  of  all  that  is  lost. 

Paris. 

By  way  of  rusticating  this  Autumn,  I  have  only  had 
the  Tuileries.  That  is  not  much,  but  I  am  very  fond 
of  "  my  garden."  During  the  winter  and  the  spring, 
when  I  take  my  tea  at  the  hotel,  I  go  there  for  my  walk. 
I  do  not  know  by  whom  it  was  designed,  but  there  is 
a  harmony  about  its  lines  of  which  one  never  wearies. 
Every  day  it  has  a  different  look.  My  favourite  ter- 
race is  the  one  overlooking  the  Place  de  la  Concorde 
on  the  right  side.  It  is  nearly  always  deserted.  Now 
and  then  a  couple  of  lovers  come  there  to  take  refuge, 
middle-class  people,  professors,  employes,  young  bour- 
geois women  out  of  love  with  their  prosaic  life.  Such 
lovers  are  ill  at  ease,  and  out  of  pity  I  keep  clear  of  them. 

The  sight  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  fascinates  me. 


186  ON  THE  BRANCH 

There  is  nothing  like  it  in  the  world.  There  is  a  joyous 
activity  about  it.  It  is  like  the  thoroughfare  of  a 
great  ant-hill.  By  the  side  of  the  rapid  automobiles, 
cabs  begin  to  have  a  comical  look.  In  twenty  years 
time,  they  will  probably  have  disappeared.  I  have  more 
than  once  regretted  not  having  someone  to  stroll  about 
with  there,  who  takes  an  interest  in  Life  and  knows  how 
to  look  at  it  merely  as  a  spectator.  When  going  along 
the  path  which  skirts  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  I  often  stop 
and  lean  on  the  balustrade  to  observe  the  children  as 
they  play  below.  The  present  generation  of  children,  at 
the  age  of  ten  or  twelve  years,  seems  to  me  decidedly 
better  looking  and  more  healthy.  I  have  noticed  that  in 
sports,  even  the  more  violent  ones,  our  Latin  race  has 
a  gracefulness,  a  suppleness,  quite  foreign  to  the  Saxon 
race.  And  the  future,  as  I  see  it,  in  the  sweet,  bright 
faces  of  the  children,  seems  to  me  full  of  promise. 

The  sunset  is  one  of  the  glories  of  Paris.  It  gives 
to  the  sky  pink  mauves,  greenish  yellows,  shades  of 
light  such  as  I  have  never  seen  elsewhere.  The  busy 
crowd  never  even  sees  all  this.  On  certain  evenings,  the 
sunset  gives  to  the  plebeian  Tuileries  a  royal  and  im- 
perial splendour,  under  which  all  the  vulgarities  which 
dishonour  them  disappear.  Yesterday,  seated  near  to 
Christophe's  "  Woman  with  the  Mask,"  I  saw  the  au- 
tumn in  its  zenith  of  glory.  The  whole  sky  seemed  to 
be  of  bright  gold,  the  branches  of  the  freshly-clipped 
trees  still  had  their  reddish  shades,  the  chrysanthemums 
in  the  flower-beds  and  the  strewn  leaves  completed  a 
harmony  of  colour  which  made  a  sort  of  symphony  in 
yellow.  The  water  in  the  pool  was  sleeping,  the  air 
quite  still.  A  single  bird's  cry,  shrill  and  sad,  came 
through  the  space,  and  then  there  was  silence,  as  though 
to  permit  all  creatures  to  hear  this  supreme  note  that 
Nature  takes  a  year  to  produce,  and  which  will  never 


PARIS  187 

be  repeated.     I  heard  it,  and  so  I  consider  that  my 
month  of  October  has  not  been  lost. 


Paris. 

My  third  novel  is  to  appear  in  a  well-known  Review 
on  the  15th  of  December.  Ever  since  my  return,  I 
have  been  busy  repolishing  it.  This  repolishing  puts 
more  light  into  it.  I  see  it  and  I  feel  it  myself,  and  it 
causes  me  a  delicate  pleasure.  It  is  probable  that  few 
readers  will  appreciate  this  clearness,  but  no  matter. 
I  always  have  a  desire  for  perfection  which  I  must  sat- 
isfy to  the  best  of  my  ability.  My  literary  conscience 
is  only  at  rest  at  this  price.  I  feel  no  hurry  and  no 
joy  to  see  my  novel  appear.  Such  as  it  is,  written  by 
hand  in  my  little  halfpenny  exercise-books,  it  is  very 
dear  to  me.  I  am  greatly  attached  to  it,  and  when  I 
touch  it,  I  feel  a  certain  physical  enjoyment,  as  though 
it  were  something  living.  When  I  look  at  it  type- 
written, it  appears  foreign  to  me,  but  when  once  it  is 
printed  and  in  circulation,  I  have  some  difficulty  in  be- 
lieving that  it  is  by  me.  A  similar  phenomenon  takes 
place  with  mothers  it  appears.  As  their  children  grow 
up  they  realise  less  and  less  that  they  were  born  of 
them.  Reading  my  novel  over  again  recalled  to  me 
its  origin  and  its  development,  very  distinctly.  Two 
years  and  a  half  ago,  an  old  friend  was  kind  enough 
to  take  me  for  a  drive  to  the  Bois  in  his  carriage.  As 
we  were  coming  back  down  the  Champs  Elysees,  he  be- 
gan to  speak  with  admiration  about  the  book  Zola  had 
just  written  on  Rome. 

"  Why  should  you  not  write  an  Italo-American 
book  ?  "  he  suddenly  said  to  me.  "  You  understand  the 
characteristics  of  both  races,  you  might  do  something 
very  good." 


188  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Nothing  as  powerful  as  the  work  by  Zola,"  I  an- 
swered. "  That  would  discourage  me." 

"  It  would  be  different.  Don't  be  too  ambitious,  but 
try." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  at  the  turning  of  the 
Hotel  Continental  and  the  Rue  de  Castiglione.  It  was 
there  that  my  novel  was  born.  A  woman  and  an  author 
can  always,  I  am  sure,  tell  the  exact  creative  second. 

Curiously  enough,  the  idea  was  put  into  my  mind 
by  an  Italian  married  to  an  American  woman.  It  was 
perhaps  inspired  by  the  contrasts,  the  incompatibilities, 
the  incomprehensions  from  which  he  had  suffered. 
Chi  lo  sa?  Anyhow  it  was  not  to  be  lost.  It  germinat- 
ed, but  slowly  and  against  my  will.  Every  time  that 
it  begun  to  spring  up,  I  buried  it  again.  Three  months 
later,  at  the  Hotel  Beau-Rivage  at  Ouchy,  I  noticed 
a  young  Roman  with  his  mother.  His  table  was  quite 
near  mine.  I  took  pleasure  in  watching  him,  without 
any  intention  of  making  any  mental  notes,  but  simply 
because  he  had  handsome,  classical  features  and  the  Latin 
charm.  I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  he  was  in 
love  with  a  very  pretty  American  woman  whom  I  knew. 
I  saw  it  in  his  eyes,  in  his  changeable  expression,  full 
of  passion  and  jealousy.  I  saw,  too,  the  resistance  of 
the  young  married  woman,  who  was  very  good,  but  co- 
quettish, and  who  liked  to  please.  This  interested  me,  as 
do  all  the  manifestations  of  Life.  Thanks  to  this,  the 
idea  of  the  Italo-American  novel  developed  rapidly,  and 
triumphed  over  everything  in  spite  of  me.  I  remained 
harnessed  to  it  for  two  whole  years.  The  result  that 
I  now  have  to  look  at  seems  to  me  rather  satisfactory 
than  otherwise.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  the  pub- 
lic will  be  of  my  opinion.  I  have  tried  to  study,  within 
myself,  the  gestation  of  the  production  of  a  novel.  It 
is  almost  impossible  to  account  to  one's  self  for  the 


PARIS  189 

phenomenon,  and  it  must  be  quite  different  with  each 
author.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  brain  is  a  generator. 
It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  merely  a  receptive  and  trans- 
mitting apparatus.  We  say,  intuitively,  perhaps,  "  I 
have  an  idea,"  or  "  an  idea  came  to  me."  Yes,  the 
idea  comes,  it  comes  from  outside.  That,  at  least,  is 
my  impression.  The  elements  necessary  for  the  pro- 
creation of  a  work  are  sent  to  us  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner,  sometimes  in  the  most  startling  way.  The 
models  appear  and  reappear  in  our  orbit,  as  though 
to  allow  us  to  render  them  better.  Men  of  science,  art 
and  letters  are  all  helped  in  this  way.  The  brain  is 
previously  prepared,  without  our  being  aware  of  it. 
According  to  my  idea,  the  novelist  works  exactly  as 
the  painter  does.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have,  in  my 
mind,  certain  faculties  which  perform  the  office  of  paint- 
brushes. The  one  sketches,  the  other  takes  from  inside 
and  outside  parcels  of  life,  the  other  groups  them,  de- 
velops the  images,  the  scenes,  touches  them  up  and 
retouches  them,  until  they  have  attained  the  desired  de- 
gree of  perfection.  I  long,  all  the  time,  for  the  last 
word  to  arrive,  and  yet  I  never  write  it  without  a  pang. 
I  feel,  distinctly,  that  it  is  something  of  myself  that 
is  leaving  me.  I  have  often  wondered  of  what  use  are 
the  monuments  that  men  raise  at  the  price  of  so  much 
effort,  the  pictures  that  they  paint,  the  objects  of  art 
that  they  fashion,  the  musical  and  literary  works  that 
they  produce.  Many  a  time,  at  my  publisher's,  on 
looking  at  the  shelves  laden  with  yellow  or  green  books, 
I  have  said  to  myself  "  What  is  the  good  of  all  this  ?  " 
Novels,  particularly,  used  to  seem  to  me  childish  things. 
I  have  felt  rather  humiliated,  even,  at  having  produced 
any.  This  morning,  while  I  was  slowly  drinking  my  tea, 
the  question  was  formulated  in  my  mind  for  the  thou- 
sandth time.  Suddenly,  the  idea  came  to  me,  and  it  cer- 


190  ON  THE  BRANCH 

tainly  did  come  to  me,  that  monuments,  works  of  art, 
books,  novels,  were  all  accumulators,  in  the  most  concrete 
sense  of  the  word,  veritable  piles  of  psychical  electricity. 
A  wave  of  joyful  emotion  was  produced  in  me,  and  I  put 
down  my  cup  and  rose,  exclaiming,  "  That  is  the  ex- 
planation, certainly."  Accumulators,  destined  to  main- 
tain life,  to  renew  it,  just  as  torches  light  other  torches, 
which  propagate  and  preserve  the  sacred  fire.  The  more 
perfect  the  work,  the  more  force  and  strength  must  the 
accumulator  have.  What  power  in  the  picture  of  a 
Michael  Angelo  or  a  Raphael !  Our  Louvre  and  all  the 
Louvres,  are  they  not  full  of  accumulators?  Many 
have  come  to  us  from  very  far,  and  they  have  not  been 
collected  by  mere  chance.  Each  one  is  destined  to  touch 
certain  brains,  to  produce  certain  effects.  This  con- 
ception seemed  to  me  true,  very  probable  and  wonderful. 
I  fell  back  into  my  arm-chair,  feeling  the  sensation  of 
a  widened  vision.  A  conversation  which  I  had  had  the 
evening  before  came  back  to  my  memory.  Without  being 
aware  of  it,  it  had  perhaps  influenced  my  thought  this 
morning.  A  well-known  American  lawyer,  who  has 
lived  for  years  in  Paris,  a  man  of  cultivated  mind  and 
refined  nature,  told  me  of  the  pleasure  he  felt  when 
he  saw  any  of  his  country  people  sensitive  to  the  things 
of  art,  to  the  souvenirs  of  the  Old  World.  He  told  me 
that  one  day  in  England,  in  Winchester  Cathedral,  one 
of  his  travelling  companions,  a  rough  sort  of  Yankee, 
who,  during  the  whole  voyage  had  done  nothing  but 
drink  and  gamble,  and  whom  he  had  avoided  like  the 
plague,  came  up  to  him  all  at  once  and  said,  in  a  low, 
deeply  affected  voice,  "  It's  too  beautiful,  I  must  shake 
hands  with  somebody."  And  the  two  men,  there  and 
then,  exchanged  a  hearty  and  never-to-be  forgotten 
hand-shake.  On  another  occasion  on  the  road  to  the 
Acropolis,  a  very  gay  and  very  vulgar  American  had 


PARIS  191 

been  telling  coarse  stories  all  the  time.  They  had  dis- 
gusted Mr.  K —  for  he  saw  beforehand  his  whole  pil- 
grimage spoiled.  On  arriving  at  the  top  of  the  sacred 
hill,  in  front  of  the  glorious  ruin,  the  man  seemed  to 
be  struck  by  it.  The  expression  of  his  face  changed, 
and  a  minute  after  he  stuttered  out,  "  I'm  sorry  to 
have  talked  as  I  did,  coming  up  to  see  this." 

"  The  Victoire  de  Samothrace  has  more  force  and  more 
influence  than  any  other  statue,"  added  Mr.  K — .  "  I 
remember  taking  one  of  my  colleagues  from  New  York 
to  see  the  Louvre.  He  is  the  busiest  and  most  prosaic 
of  men.  He  looked  at  everything  without  understand- 
ing and  without  feeling  anything  and  I  was  furious. 
When  we  came  to  the  triumphant  messenger  he  raised 
his  arms  instinctively,  and,  with  a  deep  sigh,  exclaimed, 
*  Ah,  here's  something  that  rests  one.'  " 

Yes,  it  is  an  accumulator!  Winchester  Cathedral  is 
an  accumulator  of  harmony ;  the  Acropolis  is  an  ac- 
cumulator of  beauty ;  the  great  mutilated  woman  is 
an  accumulator  of  hope;  and  the  novel  I  have  here  on 
my  table  is  an  accumulator,  poor  and  feeble,  perhaps, 
but  an  accumulator  all  the  same. 

And  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  are  not  all  creatures, 
men  and  animals,  accumulators  of  various  forces,  of 
higher  or  lower  life?  Do  not  the  dead,  even,  the  saints, 
heroes,  poets  and  artists  supply  humanity  with  its  great 
sources  of  energy?  It  seems  to  me  that  every  day 
some  scales  fall  from  my  eyes.  I  am  like  a  blind  person, 
slowly  recovering  sight,  and  my  eyelids  still  close  when 
the  ray  of  light  is  too  strong. 

Paris. 

Guy  has  come  back  to  Paris.  He  came  to  call  the 
very  day  of  his  arrival  and  sent  a  splendid  bunch  of 
chrysanthemums  up  to  me.  I  did  not  receive  him  in 


192  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  hotel  drawing-room,  but  in  my  own  room.  His  tall 
figure  made  me  realise  its  small  proportions.  I  felt 
embarrassed,  and  pointed  to  an  arm-chair  in  rather  an 
awkward  way.  There  was  a  moment  of  inevitable  emo- 
tion for  us  both.  After  thanking  him  for  the  flowers, 
asked  for  news  of  Uncle  Georges,  his  brother  and  th« 
Canoness. 

"  What  a  void  there  is  at  '  Les  Rocheilles ' 
mother,"  he  said,  nervously  clasping  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  "  I  have  been  tempted  to  rush  away  several  times 
to  escape  from  it,  but  I  stayed,  because  I  do  not  want 
mother  ever  to  be  dead.  She  would  have  had  a  horror 
of  our  letting  there  be  silence  around  her  memory. 
We  have  got  into  the  way  of  assembling  in  the  draw- 
ing-room of  the  left  wing,  where  she  always  received 
her  intimate  friends.  I  put  her  portrait  by  the  side 
of  father's." 

The  name  of  father,  applied  to  Monsieur  d'Hauterive, 
brought  a  fugitive  blush  to  my  cheeks. 

"  You  did  rightly,"  I  stammered  out. 

"  We  talk  there,  play  cards  and  have  music.  She 
will  at  least  be  with  us,  even  if  we  can  no  longer  be 
with  her." 

"  It  is  great  happiness,  to  have  our  dead  so  dear  to 
us,"  I  said. 

"It  is,  isn't  it?" 

The  young  man,  in  a  voice  full  of  feeling,  talked  to  me 
for  a  long  time  about  his  mother,  without  any  sentimen- 
tality but  with  deep  affection.  He  then  told  me  about 
family  affairs,  as  though  he  wanted  me  to  feel  that  I  was 
one  of  the  family.  I  listened  to  him  in  a  vague  way. 
He  was  seated  facing  me,  but  placed  so  that  I  saw  him 
with  a  three-quarter  outline.  The  light  rested  on  his 
face,  and  the  cheek  tinged  with  amber  and  the  tawny 
moustache  gave  his  face  the  warm,  rather  reddish  colour- 


\ 

' 


PARIS  193 

ing  peculiar  to  my  husband.  I  was  more  fascinated  than 
irritated,  so  much  fascinated  that  I  gave  a  slight  start 
when  he  held  out  a  letter  to  me ! 

Look  what  I  found  after  you  left,"  he  said,  "  read 
it." 

It  was  from  Colette  and  I  read.  She  told  her  son  that 
she  had  asked  me  to  replace  her  in  case  she  should  be 
taken  away.  She  begged  him  to  consult  me  in  all  serious 
circumstances,  and  she  added  something  like  the  follow- 
ing words.  "  Be  a  son  to  her.  Bring  her  gently  back 
from  her  isolation.  She  cannot  possibly  be  satisfied  with 
living  on  the  branch.  At  her  age  she  needs  security  and 
rest.  Give  her  all  this.  Your  love  and  your  strong 
arm  must  always  be  at  her  service.  I  count  on  you  for 
making  her  old  age  happy." 

Poor  Colette!  She  wanted  to  give  me  this  son  who 
ought  to  have  been  mine.  What  an  ardent  desire  for 
reparation  there  was  in  those  lines. 

"  You  see,  god-mother,"  he  said,  taking  back  his 
mother's  letter,  "  she  has  left  us  to  each  other.  For 
my  part,  I  adopt  you,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  and  I  shall 
obey  the  instructions  given  me." 

"  Fortunately  for  you,"  I  said,  trying  to  dissimulate 
my  emotion,  "  I  am  an  old  woman,  very  much  occupied, 
and  very  independent." 

He  rose. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered.  "  You  will  have  to 
make  a  little  place  for  me,  though,  in  your  life.  I  prom- 
ise you  to  respect  your  work,  but  not  your  independence. 
For  instance  I  am  going  to  begin  by  asking  you  if  I  may 
come  and  dine  with  you  to-morrow  —  may  I  ?  " 

What  an  odd  thing  human  nature  is  ?  I  had  intended 
inviting  Guy,  and  now  I  hardened  myself  involuntarily 
against  his  request. 

*'  To-morrow,  to-morrow,"  I  said,  as  though  trying 


194  ON  THE  BRANCH 

to  think  whether  I  had  any  engagement.  "  Yes,  I  am 
free,"  I  added,  finally,  ashamed  of  this  petty  feeling. 
"  Come;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  Dinner  is  at 
half  past  seven." 

He  put  his  arm  round  my  neck. 

"  Thank  you,  and  try  to  like  me  a  little,  god-mother," 
he  said,  gently.  "  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  very  fond 
indeed." 

I  was  chilled  through  by  the  strange  feeling  that  those 
words  were  being  spoken  by  Monsieur  de  Myeres,  and 
well  —  I  did  not  want  him  to  care  for  me ! 

Guy  dined  with  me.  His  arrival  made  quite  a  sensa- 
tion. Four  pretty  American  women  of  my  acquaintance 
gazed  at  me  with  notes  of  interrogation  in  their  eyes. 
The  most  inconceivable  and  ridiculous  part  of  the  whole 
affair  is  that  Guy's  good  looks  flattered  my  vanity. 
Heaven  knows,  though,  that  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
me.  The  waiter  put  two  plates  before  me,  so  that  I  was 
obliged  to  serve  my  guest.  I  did  so,  and  it  gave  me  a  cu- 
rious and  profound  pleasure.  At  times  the  thought  of  the 
strangeness  of  the  situation  crossed  my  mind,  and  my 
throat  became  dry.  The  young  man  talked  to  me  a  long 
time  about  his  projects,  he  initiated  me  into  the  details 
of  his  life.  He  lives  on  the  ground  floor  flat  of  a  house 
in  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau,  which  was  part  of  his  inheritance 
from  his  god-mother.  He  intends  going  to  the  lectures 
at  the  Grignon  school  all  the  winter,  and  he  will  go  every 
day  in  the  automobile  Panhard  is  to  send  him,  a  very 
practical  and  safe  machine,  it  appears,  in  which  he  in- 
tends taking  me  for  my  tour  through  France.  The 
careless  way  in  which  my  guest  looked  at  the  very  fasci- 
nating women  who  were  there  would  have  proved  to  me 
that  he  was  in  love,  if  I  had  not  known  it. 


PARIS  195 

"  See  how  American  beauty  lights  things  up,"  I  said 
smiling. 

"  Yes,  but  it  does  not  warm  —  brr ! "  he  replied, 
in  a  joking  way.  "  It  is  the  illustration  of  the  principle 
6  more  light,  less  warmth ;  more  warmth,  less  light.' ' 

"  And  you  prefer  warmth  ?  " 

"  I  like  a  happy  mixture  of  the  two." 

"  The  impossible." 

"  No,  oh  no,  it  is  to  be  found,"  he  answered,  with  a 
sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes  and  a  little  smile  of  pride. 

I  quite  understood. 

This  dinner  that  I  had  dreaded  was  more  agreeable 
than  otherwise.  Towards  the  end  of  it,  though,  it  began 
to  get  on  my  nerves.  All  the  sentiments  that  Guy  pro- 
vokes in  me  are  strangely  tinged  with  affection,  hatred, 
fascination  and  loathing.  His  presence  soon  becomes 
painful  to  me,  and  then,  when  he  goes  away,  my  heart 
literally  runs  after  him.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  hate 
him  thoroughly  or  love  him  generously. 

Paris. 

I  am  tempted  to  thank  Sir  William  Randolph  at  once. 
I  have  just  had  a  visit  from  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Lusson  and  I  have  not  had  so  agreeable  an  impression 
for  a  long  time.  French  people,  as  a  rule,  do  not  like 
being  received  in  a  hotel  drawing-room.  I  feel  this,  and 
it  paralyses  me.  My  visitors  of  to-day  did  not  appear 
to  be  affected  by  the  chilly  commonplace  surroundings. 
A  sympathetic  current  was  at  once  set  up  between  us. 
There  was  not  even  any  ice  to  break,  our  mutual  friend 
had  prepared  our  minds  so  well. 

Madame  de  Lusson  is  a  woman  of  about  fifty,  fair  and 
just  turning  grey,  with  pleasant  features  and  a  happy, 
attractive  expression.  The  daughter  is  of  medium 


196  ON  THE  BRANCH 

height,  very  elegant  in  her  tailor  costume,  astrakhan 
bolero  and  ermine  fur.  She  captivated  me  at  once. 
Curiously  enough,  she  made  me  think  of  Guy's  ideal,  "  a 
happy  mixture  of  light  and  warmth."  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  saw  those  two  forces  shining  over  her  face.  There 
is  light  in  her  dark  blonde  hair,  so  thick  and  wavy,  in 
her  blue-grey  eyes,  her  clear  complexion ;  the  warmth  of 
kindliness  is  on  her  pretty  lips,  and,  besides  this,  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  there  is  strength  in  the  wide  forehead,  the 
straight  eyebrows,  the  shapely  nose.  As  soon  as  we  had 
exchanged  our  first  hand-shake  she  looked  at  me  with  a 
little  emotion  that  was  very  juvenile. 

"  And  you  are  Jean  Noel,  Madame !  "  she  said. 

"  Not  a  young  woman,  you  see,"  I  replied.  "  Don't 
be  too  deeply  disappointed." 

"  Well,  you  won't  believe  me,  perhaps,  but  I  am  de- 
lighted. We  can,  at  least,  talk  and  discuss  things  to- 
gether. I  am  not  allowed  masculine  novelists,  of  course," 
she  added,  smiling. 

After  that  the  conversation  flowed  freely.  We  talked 
about  Simley  Hall,  about  England,  Touraine.  I  had  tea 
brought  in,  and  I  found,  not  without  pleasure,  that  my 
guests  could  drink  it.  And  all  the  time  I  felt  in  mother 
and  daughter  a  feint  vein  of  cosmopolitanism  which  con- 
tributed, no  doubt,  to  put  us  in  communion  with  each 
other.  Monsieur  de  Lusson  is  still  in  the  country.  I 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dinner  for  the  following  week, 
on  condition  that  it  should  be  quite  informal,  and  we  all 
separated  with  a  sincere  desire,  I  think,  to  meet  again. 

Paris. 

My  third  novel  began  to-day  in  the  Revue  de  France. 
I  received  a  telegram  of  congratulation  from  the  Ran- 
dolphs, and  another  from  Uncle  Georges.  Two  friends, 
now  at  the  hotel,  sent  me  some  chrysanthemums,  the 


PARIS  197 

Lussons  some  orchids,  and  Guy  —  well,  he  sent  me 
some  red  roses,  of  course.  What  made  him  choose  these, 
I  should  very  much  like  to  know.  Red  roses !  They 
were  not  only  my  favourite  flower,  but  those  of  my  hus- 
band too,  and  we  loved  them  in  a  superstitious  way. 
There  were  always  a  few  in  the  small  drawing-room 
which  separated  or  rather  united  our  bedrooms.  I  had 
banished  red  roses  for  fifteen  years.  When  any  hap- 
pened to  be  sent  to  me  I  had  always  thrown  them 
away  remorselessly.  The  very  sight  of  them  has  been 
very  painful  to  me  for  a  long  time.  This  morning  when, 
after  breaking  the  florist's  seal,  I  saw  a  vivid  bunch  of 
them  appear,  my  hands  began  to  tremble  nervously. 
They  seemed  to  hypnotise  me,  but  the  thought  never  oc- 
curred to  me  to  get  rid  of  them.  I  gazed  at  them  with  in- 
creasing and  delicious  emotion,  and  then  timidly,  almost 
ashamed,  I  smelt  their  fresh,  penetrating  perfume.  It 
went  to  my  very  heart,  it  took  me  back  to  the  threshold 
of  that  past  which  was  my  lost  Paradise,  and  it  brought 
a  blush  to  my  face.  Flowers  can  do  all  that!  They 
are  there  quite  near  me,  and  I  gaze  at  them  with  a  sort 
of  religious  terror.  It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  an 
offering  from  my  husband.  And  are  they  not?  In 
order  to  judge  Life  as  it  ought  to  be  judged,  we  must 
have  the  courage  to  look  it  in  the  face,  to  forget  ourselves, 
and  that  is  very  difficult.  And  so  Jean  Noel  cannot  help 
admiring  the  way  in  which  these  love-flowers  so  dear  to 
memory,  have  forced  the  door  and  the  heart  of  the  be- 
trayed woman,  but  Madame  de  Myeres  suffers  foolishly 
by  it. 

In  spite  of  my  anger,  I  have  more  than  once  regretted 
that  my  husband  should  not  have  read  my  novels.  I 
would  give  much  for  certain  pages  to  have  passed  before 
his  eyes.  To-day  I  have  been  trying  to  picture  to  my- 
self the  expression  of  his  face,  if,  on  coming  back  to  the 


198  ON  THE  BRANCH 

world,  I  could  have  introduced  to  him  this  other  self, 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  whom  he,  nevertheless,  helped 
to  create.  I  could  see  in  his  eyes  an  immense  surprise, 
and  under  his  tawny  moustache  a  tremor  of  emotion.  I 
could  hear  him  murmur,  almost  incredulously,  "  Antone 
—  Jean  Noel !  "  Then  I  imagined  that  he  took  my 
hand,  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips  as  in  the  olden  days,  as  a 
sign  of  approval,  and  I  positively  blushed  with  pleasure. 
Surely  it  must  have  been  the  flowers  that  caused  this 
hallucination.  I  have  always  said  that  they  are  dan- 
gerous little  things. 

On  the  publication  of  my  last  two  novels,  I  was  so 
unknown  that  it  would  not  have  been  very  painful 
if  they  had  not  proved  successes.  It  would  be  painful 
to  me  now,  because  of  those  friends  who  have  so  recently 
come  into  my  life,  and  particularly  because  of  Guy. 
Yes,  a  failure  before  my  husband's  son  would  humiliate 
me  terribly.  He  must  see  me  triumphant.  This  wish 
is  full  of  petty  vanity,  I  know,  but  I  am  not  above  fem- 
inine weaknesses.  I  acknowledge  all  of  them,  for  Nature 
will  be  able  to  transform  them  into  forces. 

I  had  the  Revue  de  France  sent  to  Sir  William.  He 
reads  French  better  than  he  speaks  it.  I  am  glad  to 
know  that  he  will  thoroughly  understand  me.  I  glanced 
again  through  the  first  part  of  my  novel  to  see  whether  it 
would  have  any  chance  of  interesting  him.  I  think  it 
will.  I  know  exactly  the  passages  which  will  rouse  his 
satirical  vein,  which  will  make  him  want  to  argue  with 
me,  and  the  passages,  too,  that  will  make  his  expressive 
nostrils  dilate  with  emotion.  And  those  little  black  let- 
ters are  going  to  produce  all  that !  Those  little  black 
letters!  But  they  will  make  me  go  on  living,  neither 
more  nor  less  than  that ;  they  give  me  an  infinite  power. 
It  is  by  means  of  them  that  my  mind  will  go  and  commu- 
nicate with  that  distant  mind.  Since  I  have  been  ca- 


PARIS  199 

pable  of  understanding  what  human  handwriting  in  real- 
ity is,  I  never  look  at  it  without  respect  and  wonder 
Even  the  type-setters  are  now  of  great  importance  in  my 
eyes.  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  the  grandeur  of  my  own 
littleness. 

This  evening  I  dined  with  two  young  friends  who  pass 
a  few  months  of  the  year  at  the  Hotel  de  Castiglione. 
The  husband  was  born  in  the  Antilles,  the  wife  is  Eng- 
lish, and  we  have  known  each  other  now  for  a  long  time. 
I  paid  them  two  visits  in  England,  and  I  commenced  one 
of  my  novels  at  their  house.  I  have  always  finished  my 
luncheon  and  dinner  before  them,  and  I  then  join  them  at 
their  table.  We  discuss  the  events  of  the  day.  Both 
of  them  are  interested  in  Life,  and  we  watch  it  together. 
This  is  a  very  great  pleasure.  There  are  so  few  people 
capable  of  getting  outside  the  circle  of  their  own  exist- 
ence. In  the  evening  we  play  bridge.  I  am  rather  in- 
clined to  think  that  Providence  sent  them  to  me  to  keep 
me  "  in  my  box."  If  I  had  not  had  them,  I  should 
probably  have  sought  worldly  distractions,  which 
would  have  taken  me  from  my  work.  They  were 
very  much  interested  in  this  last  novel,  as  they  were 
in  the  others,  and  we  had  agreed  to  celebrate  its  appear- 
ance with  the  best  champagne  in  the  hotel.  This  ar- 
rangement prevented  my  inviting  Guy  and  he  was  visibly 
disappointed. 

"  God-mother,"  he  said,  with  an  accent  of  reproach, 
"  in  certain  circumstances,  the  family  ought  to  come  be- 
fore strangers." 

"  Strangers  have  been  my  only  family  for  fifteen 
years,"  I  answered,  wickedly ;  "  I  could  not  neglect  them 
at  present." 

"  I  understand  that,"  he  said ;  "  but  at  least  give  me  the 
precedence  over  them,"  and,  seizing  my  hand,  he  added, 
"  Come,  now,  will  you  promise?  " 


200  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  No,  no,"  I  answered,  brusquely,  "  at  my  age  I  can- 
not make  fresh  engagements." 

This  pained  him,  I  could  see,  and  I  felt  a  secret  satis- 
faction. I  was  obeying  an  obscure,  instinctive  desire 
for  vengeance.  It  was  the  father  I  wanted  to  wound  in 
the  son.  I  blushed  as  I  realised  this.  When  one  begins 
to  go  in  for  autopsychology  one  must  be  sincere,  though, 
and  just  now,  I  said  that  I  was  glad  to  have  seen  the  gran- 
deur of  my  littleness.  Well,  now  I  will  add  that  I  see 
the  pettiness  of  all  my  grandeur. 

Paris. 

Guy  has  had  his  revenge.  He  came  to  fetch  me  early 
to-day  with  a  nice  carriage  from  his  Club  and  insisted 
on  taking  me  to  the  Bois.  It  was  a  wonderful  Sunday 
for  December.  The  air  was  cold  and  fresh  but  not 
bitterly  cold.  At  my  request  we  went  along  the  most  de- 
serted paths.  The  bluish  mist,  the  black  branches  of 
the  trees,  the  dark  green  of  the  moss  which  covered  their 
trunks,  all  blended  with  an  art  of  which  Nature  alone  is 
capable.  Through  the  open  window  of  the  carriage, 
a  little  of  the  silence  and  repose  of  the  Winter  reached 
me.  I  stopped  talking  and  listening,  and  a  sensation  of 
comfort,  of  dreaminess  took  possession  of  me.  I  did  not 
know  whither  we  were  driving  so  gently,  nor  whence  we 
had  come.  It  was  exquisite,  that  complete  oblivion. 
How  long  a  time  it  lasted  I  cannot  tell.  I  came  to  myself 
again  when  we  were  near  the  lake. 

"  What  a  delightful  drive !  "  I  said  to  my  companion. 
And,  with  that  happy  knack  that  I  have  of  changing 
from  one  mood  to  another,  I  began  to  chat  gaily,  and 
to  watch  the  crowd  dressed  in  its  Sunday  clothes.  It 
was  half-past  three  when  we  left  the  Bois.  The  carriage 
went  down  the  Champs  Elysees  again,  and  turned  into  the 
Avenue  d'Antin. 


PARIS  201 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  To  60,  Rue  d'  Aguesseau,"  replied  Guy,  his  face 
lighting  up  with  mischief. 

"To  your  abode?" 

"  To  my  abode.     I  am  going  to  give  you  tea." 

"  No,  no,"  I  exclaimed,  impulsively.  "  We  will  have 
it  at  the  Ritz." 

"  Not  at  all.  You  are  my  guest,  or  rather  my  pris- 
oner, and  the  coachman  has  had  his  orders.  I  would 
wager  that  you  have  never  had  tea  in  a  bachelor's  den." 

"  Never,  that  I  remember,"  I  said,  half  laughing  and 
half  vexed. 

"  Well,  then,  that  would  be  a  thing  missing  in  your 
life.  A  novelist  likes  fresh  experiences.  I  have  ar- 
ranged one  for  you.  All  women  have  the  curiosity  to  like 
to  breathe,  if  only  for  once,  the  atmosphere  of  a  bach- 
elor's abode.  Mothers  delight  in  visiting  the  den  where 
their  son  lives  his  life." 

"  Who  gave  you  that  information  ?  " 

"No  one." 

"  My  compliments,  then,  for  your  gift  of  intuition." 

"  When  mother  came  to  Paris,  she  used  to  stay  at  the 
hotel,  but  I  always  invited  her  to  luncheon  and  tea.  She 
loved  these  little  festivities.  She  always  arrived  a  little 
excited  and  her  hands  full  of  flowers.  Before  leaving 
she  made  an  inspection  of  my  household,  opened  the 
cupboards  and  the  chests  of  drawers,  to  see  that  I  was  not 
short  of  anything.  She  used  to  shake  my  pillows,  under 
pretence  of  seeing  that  they  were  quite  right,  but  in  real- 
ity just  to  fondle  them." 

I  looked  at  the  precocious  psychologist  with  increasing 
stupefaction. 

"  Women's  hearts  have  no  more  secrets  from  you,"  I 
said,  ironically. 

"  Mother  was  so  thoroughly  a  woman  and  I  was  her 


202  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Benjamin.  Between  ourselves,  she  always  liked  me  bet- 
ter, "  he  remarked,  "  than  my  brother." 

"  Ah !  "  I  said,  my  heart  feeling  suddenly  heavy.  The 
young  man  put  his  hand  on  mine. 

"  And  as  she  has  asked  you  to  take  her  place,  you  must 
see  my  rooms.  Besides,  I'll  wager  you  were  dying  to  do 
so." 

A  flush  of  anger  came  to  my  face. 

"  I  know,"  said  Guy,  with  a  smile.  "  You  are  a  thor- 
ough woman  too,  thank  Heaven !  "  he  added,  raising  my 
hand  to  his  lips. 

At  that  moment  the  carriage  stopped  and  we  got  out. 
I  felt  strangely  moved.  It  was  not  without  a  certain 
pleasure  that  I  recognised  the  domestic  who  opened  the 
door  for  us.  It  was  Louis,  a  brother  of  the  cook  at  "  Les 
Rocheilles."  The  good  fellow's  face  brightened  with 
pleasure  on  seeing  me.  His  master  had  evidently  told 
him  of  my  visit.  Guy  showed  me  into  a  large  study 
which  Colette,  painted  by  C — ,  seemed  to  fill  entirely.  I 
went  to  her  at  once. 

"  Which  portrait  do  you  prefer  ?  "  asked  Guy.  "  The 
one  at  Les  Rocheilles  or  this  one?  " 

The  question  troubled  me.  The  portrait  at  "  Les  Ro- 
cheilles "  represented  a  brilliant,  happy  woman,  the  ir- 
resistible "  Linnet  "  whom  we  had  so  dearly  loved.  This 
one,  which  dated  from  five  years  back,  gave  a  very  differ- 
ent impression.  The  fascinating  smile  in  the  eyes  had 
given  way  to  a  melancholy  that  was  pathetic,  the  laugh- 
ing mouth  had  become  severe.  In  the  attitude  of  the 
head  and  body  there  was  a  firmness,  absolutely  foreign 
to  Madame  d'Hauterive  of  olden  times. 

"  I  prefer  this  portrait,"  I  said  at  last,  with  the 
meritorious  desire  to  be  just,  with  regard  to  the  per- 
fected work  of  Providence. 

"  I,  too.     In  the  other  she  is  younger.     I  recognise 


PARIS  203 

her  features,  but  her  expression  is  unknown  to  me,  and 
makes  her  seem  like  a  stranger  to  me." 

He  little  thought  what  truth  there  was  in  his  words. 
He  was  the  son  of  this  woman  and  not  of  the  other  one. 
After  throwing  a  kiss  on  my  two  fingers  to  Colette,  I 
went  to  one  of  the  French  windows.  By  the  waning 
daylight  I  saw  a  few  stone  steps,  some  trees  and  shrubs. 

"  Why,  you  have  a  garden !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  and  you 
never  told  me.  Ah  that's  what  I  envy  you !  " 

"  It  is  charming  in  the  Spring,  as  you  shall  see.  I 
have  two  old  sycamores  full  of  nests,  and  lilac,  violets  and 
primroses." 

Guy  took  off  my  cloak,  and  my  fur  in  a  gentle  way 
and  then,  picking  up  the  Revue  de  France  which  was  on 
his  desk,  he  said 

"  You  see,  when  I  came  back  from  Grignon  yesterday, 
I  dined  here  alone  and  passed  all  the  evening  with  you. 
And  what  a  delightful  evening  it  was!  I  am  glad  that 
mother  read  it,  too,"  he  added,  with  emotion.  "  It 
means  more  success  for  Jean  Noel !  " 

"  We  shall  see  whether  you  are  a  good  prophet,"  I 
answered,  thoroughly  rejoicing  at  heart  to  hear  his 
words. 

In  spite  of  my  secret  resistance,  this  room,  to  which  I 
had  been  brought  in  so  strange  a  way,  charmed  me  at 
first  sight.  Two  book-cases  stood  half  way  up  the  walls 
the  rest  of  which  were  hung  with  old  prints,  drawings, 
engravings  and  arms.  On  the  mantel-shelf,  there  was  an 
antique  bust  of  a  woman  and  there  were  also  bunches  of 
yellow  chrysanthemums.  The  electric  light  and  the 
flame  from  the  fire  made  the  brass  mountings  of  the  Em- 
pire furniture  shine  and  at  the  same  time  they  softened  its 
lines.  In  a  corner  there  were  some  cups  of  delicate  china, 
and  some  dainties  spread  out  on  a  round  table,  covered 
with  a  cloth  trimmed  with  guipure  lace.  Three  splendid 


204  ON  THE  BRANCH 

red  roses  marked  my  place  at  the  table.  The  sight  of 
them  made  me  start.  Guy  saw  this. 

"  I  hope,  god-mother,"  he  said,  "  that  you  like  red 
roses.  I  simply  love  them." 

"  Naturally,"  I  replied,  bitterly. 

"  Mother  liked  them,"  he  continued,  "  because  they  are 
the  symbol  of  sacrifice." 

"  And  you,"  I  put  in,  "  because  they  are  the  symbol  of 
love  as  well  as  sacrifice." 

A  blush  passed  over  the  young  man's  face,  and  he  gave 
a  happy  laugh. 

"  Yes,  I  must  confess  that  love  appeals  to  me  more 
than  renunciation.  I  only  have  one  thing  with  which 
to  reproach  those  roses  and  that  is  they  don't  know 
how  to  die.  Have  you  noticed  that  they  turn  quite 
black?" 

"  Yes,  as  though  they  were  burnt,  a  true  image  of  dead 
passion." 

"  That  is  so,  and  it  makes  me  ridiculously  sad." 

The  domestic  entered  with  the  samovar.  He  closed  the 
shutters,  drew  the  curtains  and  arranged  the  fire.  My 
host  installed  me  comfortably,  and  prepared  the  tea,  with 
a  care  that  betrayed  he  had  had  good  practice  in  after- 
noon teas.  On  looking  round,  I  smiled. 

"  What  amuses  you  ?  "  asked  Guy. 

"  The  sight  of  your  bookcases  reminded  me  of  a  re- 
mark that  an  American  woman  made  to  me  a  few  days 
ago.  I  was  lecturing  her  for  having  gone  to  take  tea, 
although  she  had  a  friend  with  her,  at  Count  M — 's 
"  Oh,  there  were  lots  of  books  about,  that  made  it  all 
right ! '  she  said." 

"  That's  good,  that  is !  "  exclaimed  my  host,  laughing. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  was  charmed  by  that  subtle  instinct,  by 
means  of  which  the  young  woman  had  felt  that  books 
were  like  silent  witnesses,  a  sort  of  protection.  Accord- 


PARIS  205 

ing  to  that,"  I  added  by  way  of  jesting,  "  this  must  be 
the  respectable  room  of  your  abode." 

"  And  respected  always,  you  cannot  doubt  that,"  said 
the  young  man,  glancing  up  at  the  portrait  of  his 
mother.  Not  a  sound  from  outside  reached  us,  and  this 
provincial  silence  added  to  the  comfort  and  cosiness  of 
our  afternoon  tea.  Besides  this,  I  was  under  the  cruel 
charm  of  Guy's  resemblance  to  his  father.  It  had  never 
shown  itself  so  distinctly  as  now,  when  he  was  quite  at 
ease  in  his  own  home,  where  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time. 
Good  God,  how  great  the  resemblance  was!  I  had  in- 
sisted on  his  smoking  a  cigarette  after  tea,  and  he 
smoked  just  as  my  husband  used  to.  At  a  certain  mo- 
ment I  had  the  impression  that  Monsieur  de  Myeres  was 
really  before  me,  and  that  we  were  alone  in  this  world. 

"  It  is  strange ! "  I  exclaimed,  unconsciously,  after 
my  brief  hallucination. 

"What?"  asked  my  companion,  astonished  at  this 
exclamation,  for  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason. 

"  This  tea  with  you,"  I  replied,  laughing  nervously. 

"  I  captured  you  cleverly,  didn't  I?  I  was  rejoicing 
all  the  week  at  the  good  trick  I  was  going  to  play  you. 
You  are  not  angry  with  me  for  it,  are  you,  god-mother? 
Say  you  are  not.  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  have  you  here. 
It  is  so  nice  to  be  with  you." 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  be  nice  to  be  with  me.  I  am  not 
crabby,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  disposition,  I  think,  but  of 
secret  affinities.  There  are  elements  in  you,  probably, 
which  make  me  happy.  I  have  never  felt  this  except 
with  mother  and  with  you." 

"  Oh,  with  another  woman,  too,  I  fancy." 

The  young  man's  face  lighted  up. 

"  With  another  woman,  too ;  yes,"  he  repeated,  lower- 
ing his  eyelids  to  hide  the  love  in  his  eyes. 


206  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  No  doubt,"  I  said,  "  every  creature  has  a  special  at- 
mosphere. One  meets  with  women  who  are  young,  pretty 
and  intelligent,  but  who  possess  no  magnetism.  In  spite 
of  their  efforts,  people  keep  clear  of  them.  Those,  for 
instance,  who  are  magnetic  attract  invincibly.  My 
doctor  told  me  that,  considering  the  diversity  of  our 
respective  fluids  and  the  struggle  that  goes  on  between 
them,  he  was  surprised  that  there  are  not  more  unhappy 
marriages." 

"  Your  doctor  might  have  found  out  the  cause  of 
these  incompatibilities  which  bring  about  so  many  dis- 
asters. In  your  opinion,  which  is  the  truest  and  most 
lasting  love  —  that  which  springs  up  at  the  first  meeting, 
or  that  which  germinates  slowly  ?  " 

"  You  ask  a  difficult  question.  It  seems  to  me 
though,  that  for  love  at  first  sight,  or,  in  other  words, 
for  the  short  circuit  to  occur,  there  must  be  stronger 
affinities.  I  even  believe  that  for  creatures  to  be  at- 
tracted by  each  other  like  this,  they  must  have  been  in  re- 
lation with  each  other  previously,  elsewhere." 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  murmured  Guy,  "  and  in  once  more 
taking  possession,  in  this  instantaneous  union,  there  is 
something  all  powerful,  something  inevitable.  How 
beautiful  love  is,  isn't  it  god-mother?  "  he  said,  lifting 
his  head  with  a  movement  of  manly  pride. 

"  It  is  the  marvel  of  marvels,"  I  replied,  gravely.  I 
rose  and  went  across  to  the  hearth.  "  Fire  and  flame  are 
beautiful,  too,"  I  said,  in  order  to  break  the  silence  that 
had  fallen  between  us. 

"  And  this  sensation  of  being  at  home,  isn't  it  pleasant  ? 
You  can  never  have  it  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  am  used  to  doing  without  it,  now,"  I  replied. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  sorry  to  have  it  again,  I  am 
sure.  Do  you  know,  a  good  idea  has  occurred  to 
me." 


PARIS  207 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  lease  of  the  tenant  who  has  the  flat  on  the  second 
floor  is  up  next  year.  You  ought  to  have  that  flat." 

"  No,  no ;  this  ground-floor  with  the  garden  is  the  only 
one  that  would  tempt  me.  When  you  marry  you  can 
let  me  have  it,"  I  said,  with  the  intention  of  sounding 
him. 

"  Marry  • —  I  marry !  Ah,  my  dear  god-mother,  if 
you  are  reckoning  on  that !  Never,  never !  " 

"  Marriage  frightens  you?  " 

"  No ;  a  young  girl  does  though." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  so  grave." 

"  The  Latin  runs  more  risk  of  being  disappointed  than 
the  Oriental." 

"  You  exaggerate." 

"  Not  at  all.  His  fiancee  is  almost  as  unknown  to  him, 
morally ;  and  if  he  should  happen  to  meet  with  a  girl  of 
the  wrong  kind  he  has  no  harem,  where  he  can  shut  her  up 
and  then  make  up  for  his  disappointment.  I  know  a 
number  of  young  wives  who  are  warnings  to  me.  They 
have  either  a  bad  or  a  petty  conception  of  life.  The 
idea  of  maternity  is  repugnant  to  them.  They  detest 
the  country  and  the  open  air ;  they  must  have  the  atmos- 
phere of  places  of  amusement,  and  they  can  never  be  suf- 
ficiently saturated  with  smoke  and  vulgarities.  They  do 
not  read,  they  literally  live  on  those  little  spicy  stories 
which  form  the  conversation  at  luncheons  and  dinners 
now-a-days.  When  they  are  tired  of  seeing  objection- 
able things,  they  try  them  on  for  themselves,  and  go  in  for 
having  a  lover  by  way  of  creating  an  interest  in  life." 

"  That  all  happens  in  the  society  which  you  frequent, 
but  in  the  older  bourgeois  society,  and  in  the  real  aris- 
tocracy, there  are  plenty  of  very  high-minded  women." 

"  I  know ;  but  unfortunately  they  know  nothing  of 
modern  life,  and  they  don't  prepare  their  children  for  it. 


208  ON  THE  BRANCH 

This  summer  at  Bagnoles,  at  the  picnic  balls  we  gave  at 
the  Grand  Hotel,  I  danced  and  talked  with  the  sister  of 
my  friend  d'Urville,  a  pretty  girl,  brought  up  with  the 
best  of  principles,  I  do  not  doubt.  The  parents  have  a 
country  estate  in  the  neighbourhood.  They  stay  there 
until  December  for  the  shooting.  She  told  me  how  it 
bored  her  to  have  to  stay  in  the  country  until  so  late  in 
the  season,  and  she  owned  to  me  that  she  and  her  sister 
were  reduced  to  making  pancakes  by  way  of  entertain- 
ment." 

"  Pancakes !  The  archaism  of  that  is  delightful !  In 
the  eighteenth  century  it  was  the  great  amusement  in  the 
convents.  Mademoiselle  de  Charolais  was  making  pan- 
cakes in  the  Chateau  of  Madrid,  when  her  lover  was 
brought  in,  mutilated  by  a  stag.  And  so  there  are  still 
girls  in  France  who  make  pancakes !  " 

"  And  you  may  be  sure  they  don't  succeed  with 
them." 

"  With  your  ideas,  the  Anglo-Saxon  woman  would 
suit  you  better." 

"  No,  she  is  never  more  than  a  comrade.  I  should  want 
a  woman  who  would  be  wife,  mistress  and  friend." 

"Only  that?" 

"  And  I  shall  never  find  her  in  all  these  dolls,  pulled 
forward  by  their  garters." 

"  Guy,  Guy,  be  proper,"  I  said,  laughing  in  spite  of 
myself.  "  How  are  you  so  well  informed?  " 

"  Thanks  to  the  shop-windows,  in  the  first  place,  and 
then  to  the  gait  of  the  young  persons  in  question.  At 
present  they  are  being  subjected  to  a  torture  which  takes 
away  from  them  all  suppleness  and  grace,  and  gives  them 
the  deportment  of  crabs." 

"  Nature  is  certainly  engaged  in  modifying  the  struc- 
ture of  woman. 


PARIS  209 

"  Anyhow,  it  does  not  seem  to  be  preparing  her  for 
maternity,"  said  my  host  bad-temperedly. 

"  Come,  come,"  I  said,  "  it  is  evident  that  the  present 
state  of  your  heart  does  not  allow  you  to  think  of  mar- 
riage. When  you  have  sufficiently  sacrificed  to  the  false 
goddesses,  you  will  think  better  of  it,  and,  perhaps,  be- 
fore I  die  I  shall  have  your  flat  and  garden." 

"  If  the  goddess  I  love  is  false,  god-mother,  there  is  not 
a  true  one." 

After  these  words,  which  showed  plainly  enough  how 
deeply  the  young  man  was  in  love,  I  prepared  to  take  my 
departure.  Guy  showed  me  the  rest  of  his  flat.  The 
furniture,  like  that  of  his  library,  is  of  the  purest  Empire. 
He  has  inherited  it  from  his  god-mother.  The  drawing- 
room  opens  on  to  the  garden.  A  picture  by  Roybet,  two 
landscapes  by  Harpignies,  some  Tanagra  statues,  a 
piano  and  some  beautiful  vases  give  it  a  warm,  congenial 
atmosphere.  The  bedroom  is  plain,  but  elegant.  The 
look  of  this  bachelor's  abode  gave  me  an  impression  of 
moral  cleanliness,  of  dignity.  There  was  nothing  to  in- 
dicate any  kind  of  pose.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was 
the  effect  of  my  imagination,  but  I  had  the  sensation  of 
a  presence.  Was  it  that  of  the  false  or  the  true  goddess  ? 
I  felt  curiously  ill  at  ease,  and  could  not  look  straight  at 
the  various  objects,  nor  look  at  them  long.  I  only  walked 
through  the  rooms,  and,  when  once  outside  again,  I 
breathed  in  a  good  supply  of  fresh  air,  to  chase  away  the 
something  which  oppressed  me. 

Guy  took  me  back  to  the  hotel.  I  ought  to  have  kept 
him  for  dinner,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  do  so.  I  was 
upset,  bruised,  as  it  were,  inwardly,  as  I  am  every  time  I 
spend  any  time  with  him.  And  now  I  am  full  of  curios- 
ity to  know  the  woman  he  loves.  He  is  too  discreet  and 
chivalrous  to  confide  in  me  about  that.  She  must 


210  ON  THE  BRANCH 

be  dark,  with  a  dull,  white  skin,  as  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  pale  yellow  in  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau  flat.  If  I  am  to 
fulfil  the  mission  which  Colette  imposed  upon  me,  Provi- 
dence will  help  me  in  it. 

Pan*, 

New  Year's  Day. 

In  spite  of  ourselves  we  always  turn  round  and  look 
back  at  the  landmarks  on  our  path  here  below.  I  am 
amazed  at  having  stood  the  shock  of  all  the  events  which 
have  succeeded  each  other  these  last  four  months  as  well 
as  I  have.  When  I  began  writing  these  pages  I  only 
intended  to  take  down  the  impressions  of  a  spectator.  I 
flattered  myself  that  I  had  lived  everything  down,  and 
that  from  henceforth  peace  and  rest  would  be  my  lot  in 
life.  I  am  evidently  destined  to  continue  the  struggle. 
My  smooth,  easy  path  has  come  to  a  sharp  turn,  and  it  is 
now  hard,  unequal  and  rough,  so  that  I  am  once  more 
shaken  mercilessly.  I  will  not  pretend  that  I  regret  my 
fine  peace.  I  dare  be  frank  now,  and  I  will  confess  that  I 
like  to  feel  my  heart  beating  and  my  veins  throbbing.  In 
this  struggle  with  the  father,  through  the  son,  I  find  a 
kind  of  pleasure.  This  odious  resemblance  of  Guy 
d'Hauterive  makes  the  heart-strings,  which  I  believed 
broken  for  ever,  vibrate  as  though  touched  with  a  bow; 
and  however  much  I  suffer,  it  is  not  without  a  certain 
pleasure  that  I  hear  them.  It  is  a  curious  thing,  but  the 
novelist  within  me  takes  a  keen  interest  in  the  phases  of 
this  psychological  drama.  A  certain  actress  was  severely 
blamed  for  having  studied  the  death  grin  on  the  lips  of 
her  lover.  I  can  affirm  that  without  Madame  de  Myeres' 
suffering  any  less,  and  without  her  being  any  less  sincere, 
Jean  Noel  was  able  to  seize  her  impressions,  to  hear  even 
the  altered  notes  of  her  voice,  and  I  will  add  that  the  more 
poignant  the  situation,  the  more  complete  was  the  dual- 
itj. 


PARIS 

I  had  made  up  my  mind,  that  whatever  might  be  my 
increase  of  fortune,  I  would  never  change  my  way  of  liv- 
ing, and  yet  I  am  now  obliged  to  make  some  modifications, 
for  I  could  not  continue  receiving  Guy  in  my  room. 
When  he  entered  he  seemed  to  take  possession  of  the 
whole  room  and  of  me,  too.  I  felt  his  presence  too  much, 
or  rather  that  of  my  husband,  and  it  made  me  want  to 
send  him  away.  I  have,  therefore,  taken  the  drawing- 
room,  into  which  another  door  in  my  room  opens.  It  is 
nicely  furnished,  and  a  very  pleasant  room.  I  have  put 
some  green  plants  in  it,  some  flowers  and  photographs.  I 
took  my  pens,  ink  and  paper  there,  but,  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, I  could  not  work  there,  and  so,  feeling  quite  peni- 
tent, I  returned  to  my  dear  old  table.  From  time  to  time 
I  get  up  and,  with  childish  pleasure,  pace  up  and  down 
these  few  square  yards  that  have  been  conceded  to  me.  It 
seems  good,  all  the  same,  to  have  a  little  more  space. 
Space,  infinite  space,  that  is  my  great  idea  of  Para- 
dise. 

I  took  possession  on  Christmas  Day,  and,  according  to 
English  custom,  the  owner  of  the  hotel  sent  to  me  and  to 
all  his  visitors  some  Christmas  holly  and  mistletoe.  I 
have  decorated  my  two  rooms  with  it.  I  also  received  a 
basket  of  magnificent  black  grapes  from  Uncle  Georges 
and  orchids,  roses  and  lilac  from  various  friends.  When 
I  glance  round  the  room  I  say  to  myself  that  there  are 
many  old  women  in  the  world  who  are  more  forgotten  than 
I  am.  Guy  sent  to  England  for  a  bridge-table  for  trav- 
elling. It  is  a  perfect  gem  of  cabinet-maker's  work,  and 
fits  into  a  box.  On  his  return  from  "  Les  Rocheilles," 
where  he  has  gone  for  the  festivities,  he  will  not  fail  to 
want  to  try  it  for  the  first  time.  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
refuse,  and  Madame  de  Myeres  will  play  bridge  with  the 
son  of  her  husband  and  her  cousin.  The  sight  of  this 
will  delight  the  eyes  of  the  humoristic  gods,  I  do  not 


212  ON  THE  BRANCH 

doubt.  What  a  curious  power  there  is  in  these  ironies 
of  fate,  which  are  so  often  seen  in  the  lives  of  nations  and 
individuals. 

Like  a  child,  I  love  receiving  Christmas  and  New  Year 
cards.  They  come  to  me  from  all  parts  of  the  globe. 
English  and  American  women  are  the  most  faithful  in 
their  memories.  There  are  some  whom  I  have  not  seen 
for  twelve  and  fourteen  years,  and  yet  they  have  never 
missed  sending  me  their  "  Merry  Christmas  "  or  their 
"  Happy  New  Year "  wishes  and  I  like  having  them. 
Lady  Randolph  has  sent  the  portrait  of  Sir  William 
taken  with  Freddy,  his  inseparable  companion.  This 
photograph  made  my  heart  ache  by  the  intensity  of  suf- 
fering it  betrays.  With  my  eyes  full  of  tears,  I  slipped 
it  into  my  writing-case.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  would 
be  a  profanation  to  leave  it  out,  exposed  to  the  gaze  of 
strangers.  I  had  some  pretty  cards  from  Frank  and 
Lily.  The  dear  children,  I  can  imagine  what  a  pleasure 
it  has  been  to  them  to  choose  them !  My  parcel  of  toys, 
among  which  was  the  inevitable  Parisian  doll,  must  have 
crossed  their  cards  on  the  journey.  The  purchase  of 
that  doll  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  The  frightful 
little  persons  that  were  shown  to  me,  with  wild  yellow 
hair,  large  hats  with  feathers  and  befrilled  underclothes, 
seemed  to  me  like  budding  cocottes.  I  thought  of  the 
white  Simley  nursery,  little  Lily  with  her  simple  clothes, 
her  bare  legs,  and  her  sandals,  and  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
send  her  a  doll  of  this  kind.  After  vainly  endeavouring 
to  find  one  that  was  both  elegant  and  proper,  I  had  to 
have  one  dressed.  It  was  welcomed  with  transports  of 
joy,  and  named  Parisette.  Our  very  dolls  show  how  little 
we  understand  children.  The  sort  of  lady,  that  we  put 
into  the  hands  of  our  little  girls,  will  always  be  powerless 
to  either  awake  in  them,  or  to  nourish,  the  sentiment  of 
maternity.  They  are  proud  of  them,  but  they  can 


PARIS  213 

scarcely  love  them.  And  who  knows  if  such  dolls  do  not 
have  a  bad,  withering  action  on  their  fresh  young  souls? 

This  custom  of  exchanging  presents  and  good  wishes 
at  certain  epochs  is  so  ancient  and  universal  that  it  seems 
to  be  a  law  of  Nature.  I  begin  to  suspect  it  is  necessary 
for  accelerating  the  movement  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Things." 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  memories  are  reawakened,  thoughts 
go  out  to  each  other,  hearts  open,  and  a  sort  of  whole- 
some relaxation  takes  place,  an  ebullition  of  life  which 
is  probably  very  profitable.  If  the  wishes  were  all  in 
vain,  we  should  not  have  received  the  instinct  to  formulate 
them.  These  impulses  of  the  will,  for  the  happiness  or 
unhappiness  of  another  person,  may  create  certain  cur- 
rents, disperse  or  attract  certain  forces.  The  least 
scrupulous  of  human  beings  hesitates  to  wish  bad  wishes, 
and  the  most  sceptical  of  persons  is  affected  by  them.  I 
have  always  liked  this  rite  which  marks  the  commence- 
ment of  every  year,  and  now  it  interests  me  very  deeply. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Hotel  Ritz  has  the  genial  idea  of 
inviting  to  the  Christmas  Eve  supper  or  reveillon,  not 
only  the  guests  staying  there,  but  those  who  frequent  the 
restaurant  and  the  afternoon  tea.  In  virtue  of  this  I  am 
always  invited,  and  I  go,  as  it  amuses  me.  The  little 
festivity  consists  of  a  concert,  a  Christmas-tree  and  a 
supper  at  little  tables,  the  whole  of  it  very  elegant  and 
perfect.  As  a  tableau  vivant  it  is  curious.  The  elite  of 
the  foreign  colony  is  to  be  seen,  pretty  American  women, 
great  ladies  from  England,  enjoying  themselves  incog- 
nito, a  few  of  the  French  aristocrats  who  mix  with  for- 
eigners, people  who  have  splendid  dwellings  and  probably 
no  homes.  Many  of  the  women  come  on  leaving  the  thea- 
tre. Their  handsome  cloaks  are  thrown  back,  showing 
their  evening  dresses,  their  pearls,  diamonds  and  precious 
stones.  Everyone  walks  up  and  down  the  narrow  hall, 
which  serves  as  a  drawing-room,  and  gathers  round  the 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

tree  to  receive  the  bauble  offered  by  Chance.  People 
shake  hands  with  each  other.  Each  person  is  astonished 
to  be  there,  and  no  one  more  so  than  I.  Finally  we  all 
group  ourselves  round  the  little  tables  and  sit  down 
to  supper.  There  is  no  gaiety  on  the  faces ;  it  is  just  the 
same  as  everywhere  else,  we  do  not  really  enjoy  ourselves, 
but  we  play  at  it.  The  English  women  only,  seem  to  be 
really  merry.  The  champagne,  which  is  generously  sup- 
plied, finally  revives  the  spirits  of  all  these  poor  worldly 
people,  and  the  scene  becomes  brilliant  and  animated, 
enough  so  to  give  the  illusion  of  enjoyment.  Last  year  I 
had  supper  with  a  nice  Franco-American  husband  and 
wife.  Suddenly  the  remembrance  of  my  beautiful  Christ- 
mas Eves  at  Chavigny  rose  traitorously  to  my  memory. 
I  thought  of  the  return  home  with  lanterns  from  the 
midnight  Mass,  the  agreeable  impression  on  entering  the 
well-lighted  dining-room,  warmed  by  the  huge  logs  that 
flamed  in  the  two  fire-grates.  I  saw  myself  again  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  all  decorated  with  greenery  and  with 
flowers  and  fruit,  with  the  priest  to  my  right,  friends  all 
round,  and  my  husband  opposite  me.  This  vision,  which 
continued  to  develop  itself  as  though  in  a  cine- 
matograph, arrested  the  movement  of  my  hand  in  raising 
a  champagne  glass  to  my  lips.  I  put  it  down  again 
without  drinking.  I  looked  all  round  and  shivered  with 
the  coldness  of  my  own  solitude.  What  a  distance  from 
the  Chavigny  Chateau  to  the  Hotel  Ritz ! 

This  year  I  spent  Christmas  Eve  by  my  own  fireside 
with  Jean  Noel ;  the  following  day  I  dined  with  the 
Lussons.  They  live  in  the  Rue  de  Lille  in  a  house  of 
their  own.  They  have  one  of  those  flats,  dating  from 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  make  one  feel 
the  vulgarity  of  the  modern  habitation,  where  the  arch- 
itect employs  all  his  talent  of  trickery  in  creating  things 
to  deceive  the  eye.  There  is  a  fine  suite  of  rooms  with 


PARIS  215 

high  ceilings,  the  over-doors  are  painted,  there  are  charm- 
ing door-frames  and  the  rooms  look  on  to  an  old  garden. 
It  is  easy  to  guess,  from  the  very  atmosphere,  that  the 
furniture,  the  knick-knacks  and  pictures  have  all  been 
there  a  long  time.     In  this  good  dwelling-place  there  are 
huge  green  plants,  flowers,  books,  a  dog,  a  cat,  and  an 
atmosphere  of  real  kindliness  which  communicates  a  sen- 
sation of  ease  and  comfort.     Sir  William  was  not  mis- 
taken in  saying  that  I  should  like  Monsieur  de  Lusson. 
We  were  friends  from  the  first  time  we  shook  hands. 
He  is,  I  am  sure,  this  side  of  sixty,  and  has  the  refined 
type  and  the  slightly  arched  nose  of  the  native  of  Tou- 
raine.     His  hair  and  moustache  are  of  a  very  soft  grey. 
At   times   his   eyes   have   a   gleam   of  wit   which   seems 
to  light  up  his  very  eyeglasses.     Curiously  enough,  we 
seemed  to  understand  each  other  immediately,  and  we 
carried  on  the  conversation.     Madame  de  Lusson,  with 
her  warm-hearted  kindness  and  her  natural  gaiety,  re- 
minds me  of  Colette.     She  is   the  spoilt   child   of  her 
husband    and    of    her    daughter.     As    to    Mademoiselle 
Josee,  she  interests  and  charms  me.     Her  healthy  youth- 
fulness,  her  fine  physical  and  moral  vitality,  seem  to  fill 
the  house,  and  I  found  myself  looking  at  her  as  though 
she  were  a  sunbeam.     She  continues  her  studies,  goes 
to    classes    and   lectures    with    a   desire    to    comprehend 
Life  more  thoroughly.     She  has  a  wholesome  curiosity 
about  it.     When  a  subject  interests  her,  her  face  takes 
a  completely  fixed  look;  it  seems  as  though  she  is  listen- 
ing even  with  her  pretty  blue-grey  eyes.     I  should  be 
very  much  surprised  if  her  time  here  below  were  not 
signalised  by   some   good.     I   like   her   hand.     It   is   a 
skilful,  active,  clever  hand,  which  could  dress  a  wound, 
give  help,  arrange  flowers,  fondle  a  child  or  stroke  an 
animal.     We   ought   to    study    the   hand   more,    for   it 
never  deceives   us.     In   such  surroundings   my   Christ- 


216  ON  THE  BRANCH 

mas  dinner  could  not  fail  to  be  enjoyable.  I  had  not 
experienced  so  agreeable  a  sensation  of  comfort  and 
family  intimacy,  in  my  own  country,  for  a  long  time. 
How  many  people  and  how  many  things  Providence 
had  employed  in  order  to  give  me  that  simple  Christmas ! 
The  Lussons  seem  determined  to  tear  me  from  my 
solitude.  I  struggle  against  them  weakly  enough. 
At  times  I  feel  tempted  to  repel  these  friendships,  to 
rush  away,  to  go  and  hide  somewhere,  to  escape  from 
them,  from  Guy,  and  from  Destiny ;  but  I  can  feel 
that  I  shall  not  escape.  I  have  the  distinct  sensation 
that  I  am  descending  a  rapid,  dizzy  slope,  and  that  my 
soul  is  emitting  its  last  flame.  No  matter,  it  is  better 
to  die  giving  out  flame  than  smoke. 

Paris. 

Formerly  Parisian  women  took  cakes  or  sandwiches 
and  a  glass  of  Spanish  wine  in  the  afternoon,  at  Gage's, 
Cuvillier's,  or  at  the  Madeline  pastry-shop.  The  tea- 
room now  belongs  to  our  institutions,  and  afternoon 
tea  has  become  one  of  our  habits.  This  little  evolution, 
which  has  a  certain  effect  on  our  manners  and  customs, 
dates  about  fifteen  years  back.  It  had  its  origin  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  at  a  stationer's  shop  known  as  the  Pape- 
ierie  de  la  Concorde,  kept  by  two  English  brothers 
named  Neal.  Were  they  inspired  by  the  memory  of 
the  brown  teapot  which,  between  half-past  four  and 
five,  appears  in  all  the  City  offices  in  London?  Did 
they  think  of  doing  charitable,  and  at  the  same  time 
profitable,  work,  in  supplying  their  country  people 
with  a  national  beverage?  This  I  cannot  tell,  but 
certain  it  is  that  on  two  tables  at  the  end  of  their 
counter,  behind  a  screen  and  amidst  books  and  news- 
papers, they  began  to  serve  tea  and  biscuits.  Paris 
saw  for  the  first  time  a  sign  with  the  words  "  Afternoon 


PARIS  217 

Tea."  Tea  and  biscuits  in  a  stationer's  shop!  Only 
English  people  would  have  ventured  on  that.  The 
sign  worked  wonders,  and  more  than  one  Britisher  on 
his  holidays,  more  than  one  couple  of  lovers  has  known 
this  little  nook,  and  still  remembers  it,  perhaps,  with 
gratitude. 

That  was  the  birthplace  of  the  tea-rooms  which,  dur- 
ing the  last  five  years,  have  sprung  up  like  mushrooms. 
They  are  to  be  found  everywhere  now,  in  the  Rue 
Cambon,  Rue  de  Rivoli,  Rue  St.  Honore,  on  the  road 
to  the  Louvre  and  to  the  Bon  Marche.  Paris  has 
gone  beyond  London  in  this  respect.  Does  that  mean 
that  the  Frenchwoman  has  become  a  tea-drinker?  Not 
at  all,  and  what  is  more,  she  never  will  be.  She  neither 
knows  how  to  drink  it,  how  to  prepare  it,  nor  how  to 
serve  it.  She  swallows  it  in  an  absent-minded  way, 
like  any  kind  of  infusion.  It  excites  her  nerves  without 
making  her  gay.  She  is  too  fond  of  talking,  and  of 
showing  off  to  advantage,  to  give  the  necessary  attention 
to  the  teapot,  samovar  or  kettle.  She  is  incapable  of 
repeating  several  times  over  the  prescribed  questions: 
"  Strong  or  weak?  How  many  pieces  of  sugar? 
Cream  or  lemon  ?  "  And  when  she  does  ask  the  ques- 
tions she  never  listens  to  the  answers.  The  tea-room 
where,  if  she  is  not  afraid  of  appearing  too  bourgeois, 
she  takes  her  chocolate,  makes  a  pleasant  halting-place 
between  her  shopping  and  her  trying-on.  It  answers 
two  purposes  —  her  wish  to  be  sociable  and  at  the  same 
time  exclusive. 

The  five  o'clock  tea  at  the  Hotel  Ritz  is  certainly  the 
most  elegant  of  any  in  Paris.  The  interior  is  neither 
imposing  nor  luxurious.  It  is  only  a  narrow  hall  with 
two  rooms  opening  on  to  it,  but  there  are  footmen  and 
butlers  as  correct  as  Embassy  attaches.  The  best 
dressed  women  in  Paris  meet  there.  This  creates  a 


218  ON  THE  BRANCH 

most  unique  general  effect.  That  space,  with  mirrors 
on  both  sides,  has,  at  the  tea-hour,  the  look  of  a  large 
aviary  full  of  many-coloured  birds,  and  the  noise  of 
the  various  conversations  is  like  a  sort  of  warbling,  but 
we  may  add  the  human  warbling  is  not  very  har- 
monious. When  I  go  alone  to  the  Hotel  Ritz,  I  sit  in 
a  corner  from  which  I  can  take  in  the  whole  scene. 
Madame  de  Myeres  likes  the  rustling  of  the  well-made 
dresses,  and  also  the  beautiful  jewellery;  Jean  Noel  is 
delighted  to  study  and  compare  the  looks  and  gestures 
of  the  specimens  under  his  eyes,  and  both  have  "  a  good 
time,"  as  the  Americans  say. 

The  other  day,  as  I  was  watching  these  worldly 
women  file  by,  with  their  handsome  furs  of  sable, 
chinchilla,  black  or  blue  fox,  one  of  them  caught  hers 
up  with  a  gesture  that  made  me  start.  Her  gesture 
gave  me  instantly  a  retrospective  vision  of  the  far-off 
ancestress  who  at  once  appeared  before  me,  tall,  strong 
and  majestic,  with  a  wild  beast's  fleece  or  skin  over  her 
splendid  nudity.  I  saw  her  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  her  cave  watching  for  the  return  of  the  man.  I 
gazed  in  a  sort  of  stupor  at  this  descendant.  Nature 
has  continued  her  work  of  improvement  through  the 
long  centuries,  and  has  arrived  at  this!  Yes,  she  has 
refined  the  body  of  woman,  given  all  kinds  of  shades 
to  her  soul,  but  within  her  are  the  primordial  instincts 
still  —  jealousy,  envy,  ruse  and  cruel  coquetry.  Her 
winter  garment  is  different;  the  wild  beast's  skin  has 
become  a  valuable  fur,  but,  as  formerly,  so  the  irony  of 
the  gods  has  willed  it,  this  is  ornamental  with  tails, 
claws,  little  ferocious  heads.  And  in  spite  of  myself,  in 
this  elegant  creature  taking  her  tea  there  and  putting 
the  dainties  delicately  between  her  painted  lips,  I  could 
still  distinguish  the  ancestress.  From  the  primitive  den 
to  the  Hotel  Ritz  there  is  certainly  a  long  distance  to 


PARIS  219 

travel,  and  to  go  back  along  the  path  bewilders  one's 
mind,  but  I  love  such  bewilderment. 

The  frequenters  of  these  afternoon  teas  may  be  di- 
vided into  actresses  and  spectators.  The  actresses  are 
the  Parisian  women,  the  American  Duchesses,  Mar- 
chionesses and  Countesses,  and  the  exotics.  The  spec- 
tators are  the  English  and  American  travellers. 

The  Frenchwoman  sails  in.  She  enters  just  like  a 
sail-boat  with  a  delicate  mast  that  has  the  wind  behind 
it,  conscious,  without  looking  so,  of  her  elegance  and 
beauty.  Her  gait,  her  bearing,  her  gestures  are  all  in 
perfect  harmony.  The  Franco- American  woman  is  very 
stiff  and  awkward  in  her  attempts  to  copy  the  Old 
World.  It  is  all  in  vain  that  she  tries  to  be  correct, 
makes  a  round  with  her  arm,  lifts  it  to  the  height  of 
the  shoulder  to  shake  hands,  she  is  "  not  in  it,"  never- 
theless. She  is  "  not  in  it,"  no,  not  yet.  One  guesses 
the  nai've  pleasure  she  feels,  the  triumph  of  parading 
before  her  countrywomen,  of  letting  herself  be  seen  in 
"  noble  company,"  of  hearing  her  title  repeated  as  she 
goes  along.  Why  should  she  not  feel  this?  You  and 
I  would  have  the  same  satisfaction.  The  pretty  Spanish- 
American  woman  is  content  with  exhibiting  the  latest 
creations  of  her  milliner  and  dressmaker.  She  looks 
round  with  her  beautiful  black  eyes,  in  order  to  make 
sure  that  she  is  the  best-dressed  woman  present.  There 
is  no  harm  in  that. 

The  Englishwoman,  who  has  come  here  out  of  a  cu- 
riosity, wears  a  tailor-made  dress  or,  if  on  her  honey- 
moon, a  hideous  travelling  dress.  She  drinks  her  tea 
religiously,  exchanges  a  few  remarks  between  two 
pieces  of  bread-and-butter,  and  remains  rather  scared 
by  this  foreign  mimicry  which  she  does  not  under- 
stand, by  this  living  picture  in  which  she  recognises 
no  one.  The  simple  American  woman  is  refreshing  to 


220  ON  THE  BRANCH 

see  in  these  surroundings.  She  chatters  gaily,  takes 
in,  without  any  scruple,  a  whole  dish  of  gossip,  sees 
everything,  criticises  everything,  and  goes  away  no  wiser 
by  a  single  jot,  but  glad  to  have  had  her  money's 
worth.  Society  men  are  rather  rare  at  the  Ritz  after- 
noon tea.  A  few  elderly  marcheurs  are  to  be  seen,  and 
also  a  few  young  men  who  are  trying  to  get  into 
society,  whilst  certain  curious  individuals,  always  the 
same  ones,  walk  up  and  down  the  hall  to  see  who  is 
there  and  who  is  not  there.  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
am  mistaken,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  Frenchwoman 
has  lost  much  of  her  power  over  man.  She  is  more 
elegant  and  knows  more,  but  she  can  neither  attract 
nor  hold  him  as  she  did  formerly.  She  has  not  ceased, 
though,  being  very  fascinating.  I  realise,  by  compari- 
son, her  superior  charm.  Even  with  these  Parisian 
worldly  women,  veritable  birds  of  Paradise,  whose  lives 
are  so  narrow,  so  pitifully  stupid,  there  is  an  infinitely 
complex  soul  full  of  delicate  shades.  Many  of  them 
excite  my  curiosity.  I  try  to  get  a  glimpse  of  their 
"  sincere  face,"  "  the  one,"  as  Baudelaire  says,  "  that 
is  sheltered  by  the  face  that  lies,"  and  this  is  not  easy. 
I  have  been  particularly  struck  by  one  of  them.  She 
is  not  a  regular  comer,  but  only  appears  when  she  is 
invited,  or  when  she  invites  others,  and  she  always 
arrives  late.  Her  general  bearing  and  the  way  she 
carries  her  head  make  her  appear  taller  than  she  really 
is.  Her  thick,  chestnut  hair,  streaked  either  naturally 
or  artificially  with  tawny  shades,  her  dull,  white  com- 
plexion, her  painted  lips,  give  her  a  warm  colouring. 
Her  wide  forehead,  with  her  straight  eyebrows,  and  her 
extremely  open  nostrils,  would  make  the  face  hard,  if 
it  were  not  softened  by  golden  brown  eyes  full  of  light. 
Her  mouth,  with  its  slow,  voluptuous  smile,  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  most  irresistible  I  have  ever 


PARIS  221 

seen.  And  yet  this  woman  is  not  happy,  I  am  sure.  At 
times  her  face  expresses  a  profound  weariness  and  moral 
distress,  her  expression  becomes  vague,  and  she  only 
answers  in  monosyllables.  When  some  word  recalls 
her  to  herself,  she  draws  herself  up  at  once  and  lifts 
her  head  in  a  defiant  way,  as  though  preparing  herself 
to  struggle  with  an  invisible  enemy.  I  have  never 
had  an  opportunity  of  finding  out  her  name.  The 
group  with  which  she  mingles  is  the  most  aristocratic 
of  the  assembly.  The  men  kiss  her  hand  with  marked 
devotion,  and  she  has  all  the  characteristics  of  great 
races.  I  had  not  seen  her  since  my  return,  and  to-day 
she  made  her  reappearance  at  the  Hotel  Ritz.  She 
looked  as  though  she  were  in  half-mourning.  Her 
body  was  moulded  into  a  dress  of  light  grey  cloth,  and 
on  her  shoulders  she  had  a  truly  royal  stole  of  blue- 
black  fox.  Her  hat  was  very  becoming,  a  kind  of  toque 
trimmed  with  the  same  fur.  She  had  two  large  pearls 
in  her  ears  and  a  row  of  pearls  round  her  neck,  and 
she  had  never  appeared  so  fascinating  to  me.  In  spite 
of  myself  now,  when  I  am  at  the  Ritz  I  think  of  Guy's 
beloved,  and  this  afternoon,  when  my  unknown  woman 
entered,  I  felt  a  little  upset  as  I  wondered  whether  it 
could  be  she.  The  question  came  instantaneously 
to  my  mind.  If  she  were  the  woman,  then  God  help 
him !  I  can  imagine  what  power  she  could  exercise  over 
a  man  of  his  temperament.  How  Colette  would  have 
detested  her! 

When  I  see  these  worldly  women,  who  have  charm- 
ing homes,  come  day  after  day  to  sit  at  these  cold, 
inconvenient  restaurant  tables,  I  cannot  help  regretting 
that  the  most  intelligent  of  them,  those  who  have  a 
social  position  and  who  are  endowed  with  magnetic 
power,  do  not  give  a  tea  once  a  week  at  least,  a  nice 
well-arranged  tea  in  a  friendly  way,  in  order  to  gather 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

together,  round  the  samovar,  people  who  are  pleasant 
and  well  educated.  They  might  thus  create  a  centre 
where  they  themselves  would  shine.  They  would  win 
some  of  the  men  from  their  cards  at  the  Club.  Such 
victories  would  do  them  more  honour  than  the  sex 
victories  which  most  of  them  can  win  if  they  like. 
God  grant  that  this  other  ambition  may  be  given  to 
them.  At  present  Nature  seems  to  want  to  put  women 
of  various  nationalities  together,  and  they  come  in  a 
docile  way.  They  do  not  speak,  but  they  watch  and 
criticise  each  other  mercilessly.  With  all  this,  invisible 
exchanges  are  probably  taking  place,  there  are  the  in- 
dispensable transmissions  of  images.  The  tea-rooms 
have  their  ratson  d'etre  like  all  the  rest,  but  we  do  not 
understand.  Ah,  no,  we  do  not  understand! 

Paris. 

I  discovered  the  name  of  my  unknown  woman  in  a 
curious  way,  just  when  I  was  thinking  least  about  it. 
Yesterday,  the  Will  that  guides  my  acts  and  deeds 
took  me  to  Virot's,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  at  exactly  the 
right  moment.  I  am  one  of  the  oldest  customers  of 
this  celebrated  millinery  house.  I  have  had  my  hats 
from  there  for  the  last  thirty  years,  first  from  the 
great  artist  who  founded  the  business,  then  from  her 
two  disciples,  Madame  Marie  and  Mademoiselle  Amelie. 
I  have  known  all  the  saleswomen.  I  buy  very  little  now 
for  myself,  but  from  time  to  time  I  go  up  there  to  see 
what  they  have.  I  always  receive  as  much  attention  as 
formerly,  for  they  all  know  that  I  appreciate  the  real 
art  that  is  in  all  their  beautiful  creations.  I  sit  down 
by  the  counter,  in  a  place  well  known  to  the  old  habi- 
tuees.  The  saleswomen  come  to  see  "  how  my  hat  is," 
they  take  it  off  to  give  it  a  twist.  I  talk  fashions  with 
as  much  pleasure  as  I  talk  painting.  I  know  that  Na- 


PARIS  223 

ture  inspires  her  workwomen,  that  she  guides  her  hand 
for  our  hats  as  well  as  for  our  dresses,  and  these  combina- 
tions of  flowers,  ribbons  and  feathers,  which  are  the 
agents  of  feminine  destinies,  interest  me  extraordinarily. 
The  day  before  yesterday  I  was  there  in  the  large 
show-room,  admiring  and  criticising  the  hats  which 
were  waiting  to  be  purchased,  and  which  will  probably 
be  silent  witnesses  of  many  strange  adventures,  when 
suddenly,  behind  me,  in  one  of  the  tall  mirrors  between 
the  windows,  I  saw  my  unknown  woman  from  the  Ritz 
appear.  With  her  arms  lifted,  she  was  placing  a  sort 
of  toque  on  her  reddish-brown  hair.  Her  fur-lined 
bolero  was  open,  and  her  blouse  of  white  satin  brought 
into  tempting  relief  the  beauty  of  her  figure.  Our 
eyes  met  in  the  glass,  and  for  a  few  seconds  we  remained 
as  though  hypnotised  by  each  other.  Then  both  of 
us  turned  round  at  the  same  time,  with  a  wheeling 
movement  that  was  almost  comic.  She  looked  at  me 
in  a  surprised  and  haughty  way,  and  I  replied  by  a 
smile.  I  was  at  last  going  to  know  her  name!  It 
seemed  to  me  as  though  I  caught  her!  Without  hur- 
rying, and  with  affected  indifference,  I  finished  going 
round  the  room,  and  then  went  straight  up  to  the  cashier. 

"  Who  is  that  pretty,  dark  woman  trying  on  at  the 
back  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  The  Marquise  de  Mauriones,  ex-Duchesse  de 
Longwy,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice. 

The  Marquise  de  Mauriones!  I  had  often  seen  that 
name  in  the  Figaro  and  the  Gaulois.  The  ex-Duchesse 
de  Longwy !  By  raking  my  memory  I  found  there  a 
rather  confused  divorce  story  which,  four  years  ago,  had 
supplied  material  for  society  gossip.  I  decided  to  ask 
my  god-son  for  further  information. 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

Paris. 

This  woman  is  Guy's  beloved!  My  intuition  did  not 
play  me  false  when  I  saw,  distinctly,  their  two  faces 
together  in  my  mind.  Let  who  will  explain  the 
mystery.  I  little  thought  I  should  make  this  fine  dis- 
covery to-day,  and  it  was  so  neatly  brought  about ! 
Jean  Noel  is  lost  in  admiration.  I  very  rarely  go  out 
in  the  morning,  but  for  forty-eight  hours  I  had  been 
struggling  in  the  agonies  of  a  literary  "  deadlock." 
From  a  medley  of  my  impressions  not  one  would 
come  out  clearly  enough  to  give  me  the  leit  motiv. 
Thoroughly  exasperated,  I  put  on  my  hat  and  set  out 
for  a  good  saunter.  I  went  first  to  my  publisher's,  Rue 
Auber.  After  a  pleasant  visit,  during  which  I  heard 
that  my  novel  was  a  success,  I  went  for  what  I  call  a 
"  curiosity  walk,"  stopping  before  all  the  windows  that 
interested  me.  Those  of  Louchet  first,  where  the  won- 
ders of  the  "  Art  Nouveau  "  are  shown.  The  "  Art 
Nouveau,"  yes,  living  art,  psychological  art !  Those 
women  lamp-holders,  with  perverse  faces  haggard  with 
passion,  live  and,  more  than  that,  suffer;  those  bodies 
twined  round  the  bowls  are  also  living.  Those  orna- 
ments of  twisted  odd  shapes,  those  admirably-set 
stones,  have  a  physiognomy.  There  are  rings  which 
have  a  wicked  look,  waistband  buckles  which  give  an 
impression  of  clever  and  cruel  coquetry.  And  the  soul 
which  emanates  from  these  things  is  a  sorrowful, 
complex  soul,  a  soul  that  is  yearning  after  something. 
Artists  have  been  powerless  to  incarnate,  in  these 
masterpieces,  a  flame  of  wholesome  joy,  a  ray  of  hope. 
In  fifty  years,  perhaps,  pages  and  pages  will  be  written 
about  these  knick-knacks,  this  jewellery;  I  congratulate 
myself  on  having  been  able  to  understand  and  admire 
them.  When  I  had  succeeded  in  tearing  myself  away 
from  the  Louchet  exhibition,  I  went  up  the  Boulevard, 


PARIS  225 

down  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  urged  on,  as  always,  by 
an  instinctive  wish  to  be  in  communion  with  my 
epoch,  I  looked  at  pictures,  objects  of  art,  jewellery, 
chiffons,  etc.  My  saunter  terminated  in  a  visit  to  a 
shop  in  my  neighbourhood,  a  very  modern  shop,  which 
has  made  a  name  for  itself,  in  Paris  and  America,  by 
its  special  stationery  and  its  morocco-leather  goods. 
I  had  watched  this  business  grow,  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, in  a  little  shop  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  I  had 
watched  not  only  its  development  and  its  transforma- 
tion, but  also  the  occult  change  which  had  taken  place 
in  the  woman  who  founded  it.  She  does  not  know 
herself  how  she  has  arrived  at  the  splendid  result  at- 
tained. She  recognises,  though,  that  she  owes  much 
to  American  women.  Their  need  of  luxury  and  ele- 
gance was  a  revelation  to  her.  In  order  to  attract  them 
she  exercised  her  ingenuity,  together  with  the  colla- 
boration of  the  best  workmen,  to  create  pretty 
things. 

She  began  to  set  card-cases,  purses,  handbags  and 
writing-table  accessories  with  precious  stones.  She 
familiarised  herself  with  the  Louis  XV,  Louis  XVI  and 
Empire  styles,  and  drew  her  inspirations  from  them. 
Ideas  crowded  into  her  mind;  her  taste  was  formed. 
Under  the  action  of  forces,  of  which  she  did  not  even 
suspect  the  existence,  she  began  to  appreciate  colour 
and  line.  I  notice  that  to-day  she  handles,  with  an 
artist's  unconscious  respect,  the  knick-knacks  in  her 
windows.  They  have  evidently  become  for  her  more 
than  mere  goods.  She  "  works  "  at  her  business  as  I 
work  at  my  novels.  According  to  her  expression,  she 
has  her  whole  shop  in  her  brain.  She  thinks  of  it 
unceasingly.  She  cannot  stay  away  from  it  long  at  a 
time.  She  experiences  a  legitimate  pride  in  feeling 
that  so  many  people  depend  on  her  now.  She  shows 


226  ON  THE  BRANCH 

me  her  new  things  with  visible  pleasure,  and  her  face 
brightens  when  I  admire  them.  It  is  to  me  a  veritable 
joy  to  meet  with  this  longing  for  perfection,  this  in- 
tuition of  the  beautiful  which  are  the  characteristics  of 
our  race.  She  consoles  me  with  regard  to  the  future  of 
France.  A  halt  in  a  shop  like  this  is  more  interesting 
than  a  social  reception.  I  am  always  amazed  at  the 
amount  of  effort,  intelligence  and  work  that  a  few  cells 
of  our  human  beehives  represents. 

This  morning,  I  was  there,  admiring  the  mounting 
and  the  clasp  of  a  small  bag  which  was  just  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  workman,  when  an  automobile  stopped 
at  the  door  and,  quite  taken  aback,  I  saw  Guy  get  out 
of  it,  Guy,  accompanied  by  a  lady  wearing  a  fur  coat 
with  the  collar  turned  up  and  a  thick  veil  over  her  face. 
Both  of  them  entered  the  shop  and  moved  to  the  right. 
My  god-son  raised  his  hat  and  asked  for  an  automobile 
bottle-case  like  one  he  had  bought  before.  Whilst  this 
was  being  fetched,  he  said  a  few  words  to  his  com- 
panion. I  literally  felt  the  warmth  which  emanated 
from  his  eyes  and  his  lips.  As  though  he,  in  his  turn, 
were  affected  by  my  thought,  he  turned  his  head 
brusquely  my  way,  his  eyes  met  mine  and,  colouring 
violently,  he  came  across  to  me. 

"  Outdoors  at  this  hour,  god-mother !  "  he  said  in  the 
easiest  tone  he  could  adopt. 

"  I  am  playing  truant  —  like  you,"  I  added. 

"  That's  true,"  he  replied,  with  a  nervous  smile.  "  I 
am  on  foot.  I  have  asked  for  a  few  alterations  to  be 
made  to  my  machine,  and  I  am  superintending  the 
execution  of  them.  I  intended  to  come  and  dine  with 
you  to-day.  May  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Till  this  evening,  then,"  he  said  in  a  gentle  tone 
of  voice. 


PARIS  227 

I  nodded,  and,  after  kissing  my  hand,  he  returned 
fco  the  unknown  woman.  The  unknown  woman  —  she 
was  no  longer  that.  She  had  turned  round  to  see  the 
person  whom  the  Baron  d'Hauterive  knew,  and,  as  her 
veil  was  slightly  raised,  I  recognised  the  mouth  of  the 
Marquise  de  Mauriones,  that  sensual  and  refined  mouth, 
the  shape  of  which  had  struck  me  as  so  beautiful  and 
rare.  I  left  the  shop  first  and  returned  to  my  room, 
deeply  troubled.  My  morning's  pleasure  was  quite 
spoiled.  Could  that  really  be  the  woman  whom  Guy 
had  loved  for  two  years?  Perhaps  he  had  merely  ac- 
companied ,her  out  of  politeness?  No,  I  had  felt  the 
magnetic  sensation  of  love. 

Without  my  encouraging  him,  my  godson,  since  god- 
son he  is  to  be,  often  comes  now  to  dinner  to  the  Hotel 
de  Castiglione.  This  evening  when  he  sent  up  his  name 
I  awaited  him  in  great  anxiety,  for  I  was  resolved  not 
to  let  this  opportunity  slip  by  of  knowing  the  truth. 
When  he  arrived,  there  was  a  moment's  embarrassment 
between  us.  He  looked  at  me  with  a  questioning  ex- 
pression, and  I  tried  to  appear  indifferent. 

"  And  so  you,  too,  are  a  customer  at  my  shop,"  I 
said,  when  we  were  at  table. 

"  An  old  customer  even,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  done 
a  great  deal  of  shopping  there.  Mother  bought  all 
her  writing-paper  there.  You  might  have  met  each 
other  in  that  shop." 

Colette  and  I  might  have  met  in  that  shop!  It  made 
me  shiver  to  think  of  it.  Providence  had  arranged 
things  with  more  mercy,  and  I  offered  up  my  thanks 
mentally. 

"  Was  that  not  the  Marquise  de  Mauriones  with 
you  this  morning? "  I  asked,  in  the  most  natural 
way. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  exclaimed  my   god-son,  with 


228  ON  THE  BRANCH 

an  expression  that  betrayed  astonishment  and  sudden 
anxiety. 

"  I  have  seen  her  from  time  to  time  at  the  Ritz.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  have  only  known  her  name  the  last 
two  days." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  her?  " 

"  She  is  dangerously  beautiful." 

A  flame  leapt  in  the  young  man's  eyes.  He  at  once 
lowered  his  eyelids,  as  though  to  hide  from  me  his 
pride  as  a  happy  lover. 

"  She  is  divorced,  is  she  not  ?  "  I  began  again. 

"  Yes,  her  husband,  Due  de  Longwy,  was  a  bad 
lot." 

"  How  does  she  get  the  name  and  title  of  Marquise 
de  Mauriones?  " 

"  They  belonged  to  her  family." 

"  Is  she  rich?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  she  lives  in  good  style." 

"  What  a  false  position  she  must  be  in." 

"  Yes,  it  is  really  cruel." 

"  Oh,  she  cannot  be  short  of  people  to  console  her." 

At  this  commonplace  remark,  uttered  without  any 
mean  intention,  Guy's  expression  changed  suddenly,  and 
in  such  a  way  that  I  was  struck  by  it. 

"  No,  she  certainly  is  not  short  of  such  people,"  he 
said  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

I  know  now.  She  it  certainly  is  whom  he  loves.  I 
could  only  repeat,  "  God  help  him !  "  And  Colette  had 
asked  me  to  arrange  a  marriage  for  him! 

Paris. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  American  colony  ?  '* 
"  What  is  thought  of  it  in  Paris  ?  "  Jean  Noel  has  not 
been  asked  any  questions  as  often  as  these  by  inter- 
viewers. He  has  always  refused  to  answer,  fearing 


PARIS  229 

lest  his  words  should  be  perverted  in  order  to  pander 
to  a  crowd  of  petty  spites.  The  feminine  American 
colony  of  Europe  is  treated  in  New  York  with  a  severity 
it  does  not  deserve,  and  envy  accounts  in  a  great 
measure  for  this.  That  would  be  denied,  of  course,  and 
I  should  be  answered  that  when  people  have  wealth 
and  position  in  their  own  country  they  cannot  very 
well  envy  the  uprooted  ones.  Well,  these  uprooted 
ones,  who  are  nobodies  "  at  home,"  and  whom  no  one 
cares  to  know,  acquire  a  certain  prestige  by  their  so- 
journ in  Europe,  by  their  contact  with  the  society  of 
the  Old  World,  a  contact  singularly  exaggerated,  too, 
in  the  "  Society  Echoes,"  and  people  in  America  are 
jealous  of  them.  When  foreigners  put  in  the  same 
category  all  members  of  the  American  colony,  it  is 
through  ignorance,  but  when  their  own  country  people 
do  it,  it  is  through  injustice.  In  Paris  there  are  three 
distinct  groups:  the  cosmopolitan  American  women, 
the  real  American  women,  and  the  American  women 
who  come  to  Paris  in  search  of  higher  artistic  or  intel- 
lectual culture.  The  first  group  is  composed  of  wealthy 
parvenues,  among  whom  are  a  number  of  deserters 
from  marriage,  of  grass  widows,  of  divorced  women 
whose  one  aim  is  to  succeed  in  becoming  members  of 
the  aristocratic  clan,  less  out  of  snobbishness  than  for  the 
sake  of  having,  the  revenge  on  the  ostracism  shown 
to  them  by  society  in  their  own  country.  The  ques- 
tion is,  have  they  obtained  foothold  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain?  No,  a  thousand  times  no,  not  even  by 
marriage.  They  have  only  succeeded  in  believing,  and 
making  others  believe,  that  they  have  "  arrived,"  as  we 
say  in  Parisian  slang.  And  they  alone  know  what  in- 
trigues and  money  it  has  cost  them  to  produce  this 
illusion.  One  of  them,  for  instance,  believes  that  she  has 
a  "  royalist  salon"  She  would  close  her  doors  to  the 


2SO  ON  THE  BRANCH 

President  of  the  Republic  for  fear  of  compromising 
herself.  Another  one  is  fully  persuaded  that  she  has 
a  "  mixed  salon,"  a  salon  where  everyone  meets.  None 
of  them  have  any  idea  that  the  creation  of  such  social 
centres  requires  years  and  special  qualities,  forces 
which  could  not  be  bought  for  money.  They  do  not 
know  it,  and  it  is  this  which  appeases  me.  They  ai« 
evolving  amongst  us,  without  understanding  us,  with- 
out getting  any  nearer  to  us  by  a  single  thought  or 
sentiment.  They  are  navigating  in  our  waters,  with- 
out suspecting  the  depth  of  these.  They  heap  up 
blunders  upon  blunders,  and  continue  to  float  on  the 
surface  where  Frenchwomen  would  perish.  They  are 
always  going  ahead,  only  conscious  of  the  power  which 
wealth  gives  them,  trying  their  golden  key  in  the  best 
guarded  doors.  Many  doors  resist,  but  they  do  not 
talk  of  these.  They  will  not,  any  more  than  so  many 
children,  do  any  harm  to  any  one.  What  mission  are 
they  accomplishing?  Of  what  use  is  this  superficial 
contact  with  the  Old  World?  My  eyes  are  not  yet 
strong  enough  to  see  this,  but  Nature  has  not  brought 
it  about  in  vain. 

The  real  American  women  belong  generally  to  what 
the  Yankees  call  "  our  best  class."  Their  husbands 
have  felt  the  need  of  retiring  from  the  conflict  of  busi- 
ness; they  themselves  prefer  Paris,  where  life  is  less 
"  rapid "  than  in  their  own  country,  where  they  can 
escape  from  the  terrible  emulation  which,  in  the  United 
States,  strands  so  many  women.  They  do  not  seek 
to  get  into  French  society,  but  keep  strictly  to  them- 
selves. Most  of  them  have  very  beautiful  homes,  and 
live  in  a  luxurious  style  that  is  restful  and  in  good 
taste.  Nearly  all  of  them  have  created  for  themselves 
some  special  interest  in  life.  One  goes  in  for  music, 
another  for  painting,  and  besides  this  they  do  a  great 


PARIS  231 

deal  of  good.  By  the  side  of  these  two  worldly  clans 
there  is  the  group  of  artists.  They  interest  and  amaze 
me,  these  creatures  whom  a  spark  of  electricity  has 
separated  from  their  own  people.  Whilst  all  around 
them  business  and  dollars  were  being  discussed,  their 
ears  were  trying  to  catch  chords  and  harmonies,  their 
eyes  were  fascinated  by  colour  and  line.  Across  the 
enormous  distance,  they  felt  the  attraction  of  old  Eu- 
rope. In  spite  of  the  deafening  noise  of  machinery, 
they  heard  its  call,  and  at  the  price  of  a  thousand  sacri- 
fices they  answered  it.  Their  growing  number  has 
necessitated  certain  institutions,  among  others  that  of 
a  "  Home  Club."  This  is  installed,  if  you  please,  in 
the  old  Chevreuse  mansion,  a  house  with  a  carriage 
gateway,  a  garden,  a  terrace  with  wrought-iron  balus- 
trade, a  roof  with  pretty  attic  rooms.  Providence  has 
been  kind  to  them,  these  transatlantic  bees.  Every  day 
at  five  o'clock,  tea  is  served  at  this  club,  and  American 
women  of  the  Bohemian  order  assemble  there.  Oh, 
what  droll  girls,  and  what  an  untamed  look  one  sees 
in  their  eyes!  They  arrive  with  their  violins,  their 
sketching  folios,  or  their  books.  They  wear  dresses 
that  are  too  short,  hats  that  are  not  fresh-looking, 
jackets  that  are  too  thin,  and  their  faces  are  drawn  by 
privations.  The  piles  of  bread-and-butter  placed  before 
them  quickly  disappear.  It  is  most  touching  to  see 
these  grasshoppers  coming  to  warm  themselves  and 
take  shelter,  for  an  instant,  under  the  starry  banner  of 
their  mother-country.  Some  of  them  have  been  brought 
here  from  long  distances,  from  the  Far  West,  even. 
What  are  they  to  do  here?  They  are,  no  doubt,  in- 
tended to  come  into  touch  with  the  great  accumulators 
of  art  which  we  possess,  to  see  beauty,  hear  harmony, 
and  then  produce  these  in  their  turn.  Very  few  of 
them,  alas,  will  succeed  in  this.  It  requires  many  paint- 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

ers  in  order  to  produce  one  painter,  and  many  musicians 
for  producing  one  musician. 

Paris  likes  the  American  woman,  not  only  because 
she  leaves  it  her  money  (as  it  is  conscious  of  giving 
her  in  exchange  for  that,  things  that  are  infinitely  more 
valuable),  but  because  she  is  pretty,  well-made,  and 
sets  off  its  creations  wonderfully  well.  Paris  likes 
her  because  her  brilliant  beauty  brightens  its  streets 
and  theatres.  She  is  like  one  more  flower  in  its  wreath. 
The  shop-people  appreciate  this  astonishing  woman 
who  does  as  she  likes  with  her  money,  who  only  con- 
sults her  own  fancy,  and  who,  when  once  the  price  is 
agreed  upon,  pays  her  bills  without  deducting  the  cop- 
pers. The  action  of  American  women  on  our  habits 
and  customs,  although  superficial,  is  none  the  less  ob- 
vious. Following  their  example  we  lunch  in  hats. 
Under  their  inspiration  the  feminine  toilet  has  become 
less  discreet,  the  taste  for  jewellery  has  developed,  the 
luxury  of  the  thousand  accessories  of  life  has  increased, 
comfort  also.  Bath-rooms  have  been  multiplied,  hotels 
transformed.  Only  a  dozen  years  ago  dining-room 
tables  were  bare-looking.  I  remember  seeing  Ameri- 
can women  bring  in  bunches  of  violets  and  roses  to 
enliven  their  meals.  Influenced  by  this  happy  sugges- 
tion, hotel-keepers  have  begun  decorating  "  the  travel- 
lers' table  " ;  I  therefore  owe  to  them  the  pretty  bouquet 
which  now  delights  my  eyes  at  luncheon  and  at  dinner. 
The  American  quarter,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Etoile,  looks  different  from  other  parts.  The  Saxon- 
Protestant  soul  makes  itself  felt  there.  The  whole  dis- 
trict is  elegant,  formal  and  cold.  The  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  is  infinitely  warmer  and  more  congenial. 
When  one  goes  from  the  Rue  de  Varennes  to  the  Place 
des  Etats  Unis,  it  is  like  passing  from  the  Old  World 
into  the  New  World. 


PARIS  233 

It  was  my  conversation  with  Guy,  this  evening,  that 
led  me  to  write  all  this.  He  was  with  me  when  a  note 
was  brought  from  one  of  my  American  friends  inviting 
me  prettily  to  a  "  hen-dinner." 

"  A  '  hen-dinner  ' !  "  he  exclaimed,  smiling.  "  You 
won't  accept,  I  hope ! " 

"Why,  yes." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  resign  yourself 
to  hearing  scandal  and  chiffons  talked  the  whole  even- 
ing?" 

"  But  I  am  not  sure  that  the  entertainment  will  be 
limited  to  that.  Miss  X —  will  carefully  select  her 
countrywomen,  in  order  to  give  me  a  pleasant  impres- 
sion." 

"  You  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  American  women. 
Believe  me,  they  are  humbugs.  Most  of  them  come  to 
Europe  ostensibly  for  their  health,  or  for  the  education 
of  their  children;  in  reality  to  amuse  themselves  in 
the  masculine  sense  of  the  word.  With  us  it  is  the  men 
who  amuse  themselves;  in  the  United  States  it  is  the 
women.  Poor  Yankees !  " 

"  Don't  pity  them,  my  dear  boy.  One  of  them  made 
this  magnificent  speech  to  me  one  day :  '  In  our  coun- 
try all  the  laws  are  in  favour  of  women,  and  it  is  we, 
the  men,  who  made  those  laws.'  *  In  France,'  I  added, 
*  all  the  laws  are  against  women,  and  it  is  you,  the 
men,  who  have  made  them.' ' 

"  That  is  so,  and  I  am  not  exactly  proud  of  it,"  an- 
swered my  god-son.  "  But  the  magnanimity  of  the 
American  men  is  not  calculated  to  encourage  us.  They 
have  been  badly  enough  rewarded,  you  must  agree. 
You  have  flattered  the  Transatlantics  in  your  novels, 
god-mother.  I  have  not  found  in  them  that  respect 
for  truth  which  you  attribute  to  them.  They  tell  you 
stories  which  send  you  to  sleep.  According  to  them, 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

their  daughters  have  refused  the  greatest  names  in  the 
Almanac  de  Gotha,  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  has  no 
secrets  for  them.  One  of  my  friends  visits  an  American 
woman  who  goes  in  for  social  electicisms,  and  wants 
to  bring  about  the  coalition  of  parties  by  means  of 
music.  You  can  imagine  what  that  is!  She  had  in 
her  salon,  one  day,  not  a  bouquet,  but  a  bush  of  rare 
flowers !  Georges  Serizay  began  to  tease  her  about 
them.  She  told  him  that  they  were  an  offering  from 
the  Republican  party,  and  added,  '  When  my  friend, 
Count  C — ,  saw  the  card  which  accompanied  them, 
he  tore  it  up,  saying,  '  This  is  a  royalist  salon ! '  Isn't 
that  comic?  " 

"  Comic.  "  I  exclaimed,  laughing  heartily.  "  It  is 
killing.  I  hope  the  anecdote  is  true !  " 

"True?  I  guarantee  it.  That's  just  like  parverws. 
They  want  to  climb  the  social  ladder  four  steps  at  a 
time  and  to  live  quickly,  very,  very  quickly.  They 
haven't  time  to  wait  for  events  to  happen,  they  invent 
them.  You  don't  know  the  real  American  women." 

"Possibly  not." 

"  A  *  hen-dinner ! '  '  repeated  Guy,  picking  up  the 
invitation.  "  I  think  I  shall  do  well  to  fetch  you  away 
at  ten  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  need  to  come  for  me,"  I  said 
promptly.  "  Miss  X —  lives  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  and  I  am  quite  used  to  coming  home  alone." 

"  That  was  all  right  when  you  had  no  one ;  but  now 
you  are  under  my  immediate  protection.  At  ten  o'clock 
I  shall  come  and  release  you." 

"  Anyhow,  not  at  ten  o'clock,  if  you  please." 

"  At  eleven,  then." 

"  Yes,  let  it  be  eleven,  then,"  I  said,  both  irritated  and 
pleased. 


PARIS  235 

Paris. 

The  famous  "  hen-dinner  "  took  place  yesterday,  and 
was  a  thorough  success  from  every  point  of  view.  Miss 
X —  lives  with  her  father  in  a  flat  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  in  which  elegance,  art  and  comfort  are  hap- 
pily combined.  The  dining-room  had  a  particularly 
brilliant  aspect.  We  were  ten,  round  a  table  covered 
with  an  embroidered  cloth,  which  had,  as  its  centre-piece, 
a  basket  of  superb  fruit,  and  was  strewn  as  if  by  hazard 
with  roses  of  various  species.  We  seemed  to  be  eating  in 
the  midst  of  flowers.  Each  guest  was  in  full  dress,  and 
had  put  on  her  "  war-paint "  as  though  for  masculine 
conquest.  The  American  woman,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
dresses  for  woman  more  than  for  man.  Our  amphitryon 
wore  a  dress  of  lace  and  silk  muslin  of  a  warm-white,  and 
round  her  neck  she  had  a  high  pearl  collar.  In  my 
quality  of  dowager,  she  placed  me  opposite  her.  I  was, 
of  course,  the  only  Frenchwoman  there.  Miss  X —  had 
gathered  together  girls  and  also  women  of  thirty  and 
forty.  My  neighbour  was  a  Baltimore  beauty,  married 
and  living  at  Washington,  very  tall,  with  fair  hair  and 
complexion.  She  had  small  features  and  immense  eyes  of 
dark  blue,  shaded  by  lashes  that  looked  like  those  of  a 
child.  It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  look  at  her.  All  these 
women  were  rich,  absolutely  independent,  although  nom- 
inally under  the  control  of  parents  or  husbands.  Each 
of  them  had  an  object  in  life,  an  ambition  or  an  occupa- 
tion. One  of  them,  who  was  introduced  to  me  as  Dr. 
V — ,  is  house-surgeon  in  one  of  the  large'  Boston  hospi- 
tals. From  her  gentle  face  and  timid  expression  I  should 
never  have  guessed  her  vocation,  and  expressed  my  aston- 
ishment. 

"  I  inherited  this  taste  from  my  father,  who  was  not 
able  himself  to  study,"  she  replied  simply.  "  I  love  art 
and  society,  but  my  profession  above  everything." 


236  ON  THE  BRANCH 

In  spite  of  myself,  during  dinner,  my  eyes  were  at- 
tracted by  this  woman's  delicate,  long,  thin  hands  which 
handled  the  knife  and  lancet.  The  sight  of  them  gave 
me  little  shivers  down  my  back.  Paris  supplied  unlim- 
ited material  for  conversation.  Among  the  guests,  some 
had  visited  all  the  Montmartre  establishments,  had  been 
to  supper  in  all  the  night  restaurants;  the  others  had 
been  fascinated  with  the  Latin  Quarter  and  had  dined 
in  its  taverns,  an  indication  of  mentality.  The  French 
little  think  what  prestige  the  Latin  Quarter  still  has  for 
foreigners,  who  neither  understand  its  lower  nor  its 
higher  life,  but  are  fascinated  by  its  ebullition  of  youth 
and  forces.  In  the  window  of  Galignani's  English  li- 
brary there  is  always  a  row  of  books,  among  which  that 
magic  title  flares  out.  On  hearing  the  various  impres- 
sions that  Paris  calls  forth,  I  realised  that,  alone  of  all 
the  capitals  of  Europe,  it  is  a  complete  orchestra,  an  or- 
chestra which  has  a  sound  for  each  human  ear.  I  asked 
my  neighbour,  the  most  beautiful  of  the  "  hens  "  present, 
if  she  were  amusing  herself  here. 

"  No,  I  am  resting  here.     That  is  much  better." 

"  You  are  resting  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  come  here  with  my  maid  and  my  dog. 
When  I  arrive,  I  am  so  tired  of  Society  life  that  I  hope 
never  to  see  my  husband,  my  house  and  my  pictures 
again.  After  a  little  time  my  nerves  recover,  and  I 
return  home  with  pleasure." 

"  And  Mr.  H. —  gives  you  holidays  like  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  our  men  are  so  good !  " 

I  should  have  liked  Guy  to  hear  this  speech. 

"  In  what  way  do  you  rest  ?  "  I  asked,  inquisitively. 

"  I  have  a  singing-lesson  every  day,  I  take  Loulou  out 
for  a  walk,  I  go  to  the  theatre,  to  all  the  concerts,  I  call 
on  the  old  French  ladies  whose  sons  have  been  attaches  at 
Washington.  They  are  terribly  shocked  at  my  in- 


PARIS  237 

dependence.  They  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  think- 
ing me  all  right,  but  they  like  to  see  me,  and  to  please 
them  I  put  on  my  very  prettiest  frocks.  This  morning 
I  lunched  with  one  of  them,  and  we  were  waited  on  by  a 
man-servant  in  a  white  apron.  It  was  delightful !  " 

A  man-servant  in  a  white  apron,  delightful!  How 
one  must  have  been  surfeited  with  luxury  to  have  this 
impression ! 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  the  French  cannot  under- 
stand you,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  But  they  do  not  even  try  to  do  so,"  said  our  hostess, 
"  and  that  is  what  maddens  me.  All  those  I  have  met 
out,  for  the  last  twelve  years,  have  asked  me  the  same 
questions :  '  Do  you  like  Paris  ?  Have  you  been  away 
from  America  long  ?  '  Not  one  of  them  has  gone  beyond 
that.  I  have  tried  to  talk  art  or  literature;  they  have 
looked  at  me  with  astonishment,  and  have  never  attempted 
to  continue  the  conversation." 

"  Have  you  had  the  same  experience  ?  "  I  asked  an 
American  woman,  who  owns  a  chateau  not  far  from  Paris. 

"  Exactly.  It  took  me  0  long  time  to  become  intimate 
with  my  neighbours.  There  is  one  thing  that  never 
ceases  to  astonish  them,  that  is  my  individual  liberty  in 
married  life." 

"  How  behind  the  times  they  must  seem  to  you !  " 

"  Yes  and  no.  They  have  shades  and  a  delicacy  that 
we  have  not  acquired.  This  autumn  I  spent  three 
months  in  Boston,  and  my  compatriots  seemed  to  me  ter- 
ribly raw." 

"  Don't  say  that  before  Madame  de  Myeres,"  ex- 
claimed Miss  V — .  "  It  is  treason." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  said,  smiling.  "  Do  I  not  know  that 
Nature  refuses  to  hurry  up.  You  have  refinement,  but 
not  its  niceties.  With  us,  raw  people  are  generally 
coarse." 


238  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"How  just  you  are!"  said  the  "beauty,"  with  a 
pleased  look. 

"  I  try  to  be." 

"  That  is  why  we  are  not  afraid  of  you,"  added  our 
hostess. 

With  these  amiable  words  she  made  me  the  conven- 
tional sign,  and  we  rose  from  the  table  and  went  into  the 
drawing-room.  We  sat  down  there  round  the  fire.  Cof- 
fee was  brought  in,  and  a  few  cigarettes  were  lighted.  It 
was  as  though  the  Buddhist  gods  and  goddesses  of  the 
admirable  collection  in  the  adjoining  room  had  influenced 
our  minds  in  an  occult  way,  for  the  conversation  grad- 
ually turned  to  India,  China  and  Japan.  A  crowd  of 
anecdotes  and  reminiscences  surged  up  from  these  fresh 
memories. 

"  What  a  contrast  between  a  city  like  Benares  and  New 
York !  "  I  said.  "  That  is  an  impression  that  I  envy 
you." 

"  It  is  not  as  striking  as  you  imagine  it  to  be,"  replied 
Madame  B — .  "  It  is  too  much  toned  down  by  the  pres- 
ence of  foreigners.  What  is  most  extraordinary  is  the 
revelation  of  that  psychical  force  which,  immaterial  and 
invisible,  sustains  millions  of  individuals,  and  commu- 
nicates to  them  a  power  of  endurance  superior  to  our 
own.  All  the  time,  in  the  midst  of  the  real  and  unreal, 
I  had  the  sensation  that  India  was  a  soul  upon  which  we 
were  walking." 

"  And  upon  which  the  English  play  tennis  and  golf." 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  abominable ;  you  cannot  imagine  how 
vulgar  we  seem  by  the  side  of  these  poor  Hindoos  who 
live  in  the  Beyond.  I  was  invited  to  a  tea  ceremony  at 
the  house  of  a  native  lady.  There  were  endless  bows, 
compliments  and  changing  of  cups.  It  was  as  though 
the  movements  were  timed  by  music.  I  could  not  under- 
stand anything,  but  all  the  time  I  was  thinking  of  our 


PARIS  239 

Society  teas,  our  chatter,  our  abrupt  gestures,  and  the 
comparison  was  not  to  our  advantage.  I  should  have 
liked  to  go  back  to  India  this  year,  but  I  belong  to  a  cer- 
tain committee,  so  must  go  home.  It  means  work. 
Miss  Gould,  our  President,  sets  the  example  herself." 

"  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  be  present  at  the  meet- 
ings of  a  committee  of  women,"  I  said,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  I  will  not  say  that  they  are  always  dignified. 
We  quarrel,  and  give  each  other  vicious  little  stabs ;  but 
we  come  to  an  understanding  finally,  and  with  good  re- 
sults. For  instance,  formerly,  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
world  our  Chicago  was  only  a  pig-market.  The  women 
took  it  into  their  heads  to  show  that  it  was  capable  of 
appreciating  works  of  art,  and  even  of  producing  them. 
They  seized  the  opportunity  of  its  exhibition.  Thanks  to 
them  there  were,  by  the  side  of  the  display  of  its  material 
power,  oases  of  beauty  and  poetry.  The  initial  move- 
ment, once  given,  has  not  slackened.  In  Chicago  now, 
music  is  cultivated  with  passion,  pictures  are  collected, 
taste  is  getting  more  and  more  refined,  and  it  will  not  be 
long  before  Chicago  eclipses  New  York.  That  is  what 
we  have  accomplished." 

"  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  the  men  who  have  given 
you  the  necessary  liberty." 

"  Oh,  our  American  men  are  too  clever  and  too  prac- 
tical not  to  know  that  their  big  paws  are  not  suitable  for 
certain  work.  They  leave  it  to  us  willingly.  In  the 
twentieth  century  woman  cannot  belong  solely  to  husband 
and  child.  Civilisation  claims  her.  She  has  acquired 
the  right  of  working  for  the  progress  of  this  world." 

At  this  moment  my  eyes  were  magnetically  attracted 
towards  the  next  room.  A  ray  of  electricity  was  thrown 
upon  a  Buddhist  goddess,  giving  her  a  semblance  of 
life.  A  mysterious  smile  gleamed  from  between  her 
half -closed  eyelids,  descended  to  her  lips,  and  I  saw  that 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

she  had  numerous  arms.  Irresistibly  attracted,  I  went 
towards  her,  took  her  up  with  reverence,  and  brought  her 
with  me  into  the  midst  of  our  circle. 

"  You  see,"  I  then  said,  "  the  future  power  of  woman 
seems  to  have  formed  part  of  the  Buddhist  dream.  Here 
is  a  goddess  with  four  heads,  and  at  least  a  dozen  arms !  " 

"  Twenty-four,  if  you  please,"  rectified  Miss  X —  "  It 
is  Kwan-Gin,  and  her  name  means  '  She  who  listens  to 
the  sounds  of  earth  and  lends  her  ear  to  the  words  of 
men.'  She  is  adored  in  China  and  Japan  like  an  '  Our 
Lady  of  Pity  '  here." 

The  American  women  rose,  gathered  round  the  bronze 
statue  and  stroked  it  one  after  the  other. 

"  She's  holding  a  thunderbolt,"  exclaimed  one. 

"  The  goblet  of  sacrifice !  " 

"  The  wooden  bowl  for  the  almsgiving !  " 

"  The  book  of  the  law !  " 

"  The  prayer-wheel !  " 

"  The  Wheel  of  Things !  " 

"  Come,  now,"  I  said,  smiling,  "  that's  enough  to  sat- 
isfy the  most  feminine  of  us.  '  She  who  listens  to  the 
sound  of  earth '  must  have  heard  our  voices." 

As  I  was  putting  Kwan-Gin  gently  back  on  her  ped- 
estal eleven  o'clock  struck.  The  evening  had  passed  in- 
credibly quickly.  •  These  American  women,  away  from 
the  magnetic  influence  of  man,  had  been  amusing,  orig- 
inal and  charming.  I  said  so  to  our  hostess. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  our  cackling  has  not  been  dull." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  brilliant ;  let  us  con- 
gratulate ourselves." 

"  Let  us  congratulate  ourselves,"  they  repeated  gaily. 

My  carriage  was  announced,  and  in  the  hall  I  found 
Louis,  Guy's  servant  man.  I  could  not  help  smiling. 
Would  any  one  believe  it  possible  that  I  felt  a  sort  of 
vain  satisfaction?  It  is  rather  humiliating  to  own  it. 


PARIS 

My  godson  had  done  things  well,  for  he  was  waiting 
for  me  in  a  carriage  from  his  club. 

"  Well,  god-mother,"  he  asked  at  once,  "  did  you  not 
regret  that  I  was  not  here  earlier?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  have  not  en j  oyed  myself  so  much  for 
a  long  time.  And  I  can  assure  you  that  we  have  not  said 
any  harm  of  a  single  person,  and  we  have  not  talked 
chiffons." 

"Ah,  indeed!" 

"  Several  times  I  wished  that  you  were  hidden  behind 
one  of  the  screens.  If  you  had  heard  us  you  would  have 
had  a  better  opinion  of  women." 

The  young  man  laughed  nervously. 

"  A  better  opinion  of  women !  That's  exactly  what  I 
need  to  have  at  this  moment." 

**  Have  you  a  bad  one,  then." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  no  matter,"  he  said  brusquely. 

I  refrained  from  insisting,  and  there  was  silence  be- 
tween us.  The  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne  was 
deserted,  and  the  night  cold  and  rainy.  I  gradually 
began  to  feel,  as  I  used  to  do  with  my  husband,  a  deli- 
cious sensation  of  security,  of  moral  and  physical 
warmth.  Was  it  not  he  who  was  giving  it  me  again, 
or  at  least  the  something  of  him  that  still  exists?  In- 
stinctively I  turned  towards  my  companion,  and,  meet- 
ing his  eyes,  I  saw  in  them  that  gleam  which  I  always 
see,  the  gleam  that  came  from  his  father's  soul.  It 
touched  me  more  directly  than  it  had  ever  done,  and  I 
felt  very  happy.  I  remembered  our  returns  from  balls 
and  theatres,  the  joy  of  reaching  home  again.  I  saw 
again  our  little  drawing-room,  enlivened  by  a  beautiful 
wood  fire,  and  the  dainty  supper  which  awaited  us.  ... 
Suddenly  overcome,  I  lowered  the  window,  and  was 
deeply  moved  by  what  I  saw.  To  avoid  the  slippery 
pavement  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  the  coachman  had 


242  ON  THE  BRANCH 

turned  off  to  the  right,  and  we  were  now  driving  along 
the  Rue  Fra^ois  I.  The  carriage  crossed  the  square 
and  turned  the  corner  slowly.  I  could  not  breathe,  and 
was  foolish  enough  to  say  to  myself,  "  What  if  this 
were  an  evil  dream  —  supposing  it  were  to  stop  there, 
in  front  of  the  house !  "  —  No,  I  was  not  dreaming ;  the 
carriage  drove  on  and  took  me  —  to  the  hotel.  Oh, 
Providence,  too,  puts  delicate  shades  into  its  novels! 

Paris. 

It  is  very  curious  and  rather  disquieting,  but  for  the 
last  few  days  I  have  met  Madame  de  Mauriones  every- 
where. She  crosses  my  path,  I  cross  hers,  we  exchange 
a  glance  and  pass  on.  I  know  Life  well  enough  now  to 
be  aware  that  these  meetings  of  individuals  are  never 
casual,  but  that  they  frequently  prepare  events.  Are 
we  to  become  acquainted,  and,  if  so,  why  and  how  ? 

The  day  before  yesterday  I  witnessed  a  scene  which 
disturbed  my  mind  in  the  most  singular  way.  Some 
American  friends  took  me  to  the  Hotel  Ritz  to  dinner. 
The  assembly  was  large  and  elegant.  In  the  white 
framework  of  the  restaurant,  the  tables,  decorated  with 
flowers,  at  which  women  in  evening  dress  were  seated, 
had  the  prettiest  effect.  The  brilliancy  of  eyes,  of 
smiles,  and  of  red  lips,  the  play  of  hands  covered  with 
diamonds,  and  the  glitter  of  jewels,  gave  to  the  atmos 
phere  a  sort  of  joyous  life.  Not  far  from  me  I  sud- 
denly caught  sight  of  the  Marquise  de  Mauriones. 
"  There  she  is  again !  "  I  thought.  Together  with  two 
pretty  women,  accompanied  by  their  husbands,  she  was 
the  guest  of  Prince  K — ,  a  Russian  who  is  spending 
his  fortune  gallantly  in  Paris.  From  my  seat  I  could 
see  the  outlines  of  her  bust,  the  passionate  and  yet  sad 
expression  of  her  face.  She  was  all  in  black,  and  her 
dress  was  of  some  light  texture,  trimmed  with  ribbon 


PARIS  243 

velvet.  The  under  bodice  was  cut  very  low,  showing, 
through  the  high-necked  gauze,  her  shoulders  and 
bosom.  Her  hat,  which  was  also  black,  suited  her 
profile  and  hair  to  perfection.  Several  rows  of  flawless 
pearls  relieved  the  simplicity  of  her  toilette.  I  looked 
at  the  prince  with  some  curiosity.  He  was  still  young, 
with  a  body  rendered  heavy  and  shapeless  by  good  living. 
His  features  were  regular,  but  bloated  by  excesses  of  all 
kinds.  I  had  only  seen  him  hitherto  in  the  distance,  and 
was  surprised  at  the  refined  and  caustic  expression  of 
his  face.  This  poor  rake  knows,  I  am  sure,  how  far  to 
count  on  the  sincerity  of  the  praise  heaped  on  him,  and 
he  knows,  too,  how  much  his  parasites  are  worth.  I 
at  once  had  the  intuition  that  there  was  something  be- 
tween him  and  Madame  de  Mauriones.  He  was  admiring 
her  openly  and  trying  to  monopolise  her.  She  defended 
herself  with  a  certain  haughtiness,  avoided  his  gaze,  kept 
her  head  obstinately  turned  towards  her  right-hand 
neighbour,  looking  back  again  towards  him  with  that 
plow  smile  of  irresistible  fascination  peculiar  to  her.  At 
the  end  of  dinner,  both  of  them,  with  an  almost  religious 
gesture,  raised  their  champagne  glass  simultaneously. 
For  a  few  seconds,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  they 
held  it  to  their  lips,  as  though  for  a  communion  of  love. 
Then  brusquely,  without  drinking,  and  with  a  little 
wicked  laugh,  the  Marquise  put  her  glass  down  again. 
Prince  K —  turned  pale,  drank  his  champagne  at  one 
draught  and  stood  up.  His  guests,  rather  startled,  tak- 
ing this  for  the  signal  of  departure,  followed  his  example, 
and  all  four  left  the  restaurant.  The  scene  had  been 
well  played  out,  and  what  a  fine  scene !  There  had  been 
a  physiological  and  psychological  struggle  that  was  both 
intense  and  poignant.  It  was  not  a  mere  flirtation. 
Was  Guy  to  be  betrayed  ?  This  idea  caused  me  a  sudden 
joy,  of  which  I  was  ashamed.  The  son  of  my  hus- 


244  ON  THE  BRANCH 

band  betrayed!  Such  retribution  probably  satisfied 
my  feminine  soul.  That  handsome  boy,  with  his  limpid 
eyes  beaming  with  manly  and  healthy  youth,  was  to  be 
betrayed  for  this  shapeless  rake.  Impossible!  Alas, 
do  I  not  know  that  everything  is  possible! 

Paris. 

I  have  just  returned  to  the  hotel  after  an  absence  of 
six  days  and,  during  those  six  days,  marvellous  things 
have  been  accomplished  within  me.  Jean  Noel,  who 
fancied  himself  very  learned  in  psychology,  had  no  idea 
of  what  the  human  soul  is  capable.  Last  Monday,  as 
I  was  finishing  luncheon,  I  was  called  to  the  telephone. 
It  was  my  god-son's  manservant.  In  a  distressed  voice 
he  begged  me  to  come  and  help  him.  The  Baron,  he 
said,  was  alarmingly  feverish,  did  not  recognise  him, 
and  appeared  to  be  very  ill.  Deeply  affected  by  the 
strange  news,  I  answered  that  I  would  go  there  at  once. 
"  Madame  de  Mauriones !  "  I  thought,  as  I  hung  up  the 
telephone  receiver.  I  arrived,  in  a  very  excited  state,  at 
the  Rue  d'Aguesseau.  Louis'  face  did  not  reassure  me. 
I  asked  him  what  had  happened  to  his  master. 

"  God  knows !  "  he  said,  lifting  his  arms.  "  There  is 
certainly  a  love  affair  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Madame 
knows  what  young  men  are.  If  women  will  make  a 
handsome  young  man  like  Monsieur  Guy  miserable,  what 
can  all  the  others  expect  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  For  some  time,"  continued  the  worthy  man,  "  Mon- 
sieur has  been  in  a  queer  way.  For  the  last  three  days 
he  has  not  been  to  Grignon,  he's  done  nothing  but  go 
in  and  out,  and  pace  up  and  down  in  the  flat.  Yester- 
day, when  I  asked  him  whether  he  was  dining  at  home, 
he  looked  at  me  as  though  he  did  not  understand,  and 
then  gave  a  nod.  I  prepared  him  a  nice  little  dinner,  and 


PARIS  245 

he  tried  to  do  honour  to  it,  but  I  saw  very  well  that  ii 
wouldn't  go  down.  He  complained  of  a  bad  headache. 
I  made  him  some  lime-leaf  tea,  and  then  he  sent  me 
away,  saying  he  did  not  want  anything  else,  and  that 
he  should  go  to  bed  early.  This  morning  he  did  not  hear 
me  go  into  his  room,  and,  thinking  that  he  was  sleeping 
naturally,  I  would  not  wake  him.  At  twelve  o'clock  I 
went  back  to  him,  I  called  and  called,  but  he  only  an- 
swered by  groans ;  it's  as  though  he  cannot  open  his  eyes. 
Madame  will  see  for  herself." 

I  went  to  his  room  and  found  him  in  his  Empire  bed. 
He  was  quite  inert,  and  looked  as  though  he  were  dead. 
His  pulse  was  slow,  irregular,  languid;  his  breathing 
rapid,  his  eyes  fixed,  and  he  appeared  to  be  plunged 
in  a  semi-coma.  I  was  very  much  alarmed. 

"  Quick,  quick  to  the  telephone*,"  I  said  to  Louis. 
"  Ask  for  Dr.  H— ." 

Fortunately  this  doctor  was  at  home  and,  after  beg- 
ging him  to  come  immediately,  I  returned  to  Guy. 

Forces  that  we  do  not  see,  jealousy,  treachery,  per- 
haps had  laid  this  vigorous  body  low.  As  I  stood  look- 
ing at  this  poor  vanquished  one,  I  was  very  much  moved, 
tears  dimmed  my  sight,  and,  beneath  my  heart,  in  that 
sacred  region  which  is  the  tabernacle  of  maternity,  a 
region  hitherto  sterile  and  silent  within  me,  I  suddenly 
felt  a  curious  tenderness  born,  a  tenderness  that  was  new 
and  infinitely  sweet.  Guy  moved  about  and  groaned. 

"  Mother  —  mother ! "  he  called,  with  an  accent  of 
pitiful  distress. 

And   I,   unconsciously,   replied  — 

"  My  child  —  my  dear  child !  " 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  head  to  bless  him,  to  adopt  or 
soothe  him  —  I  cannot  tell  what.  The  maternal  instinct 
had  just  been  roused  in  the  depth  of  my  being.  It  had 
triumphed  over  all  paltry  sentiments,  over  my  woman's 


246  ON  THE  BRANCH 

spite,  and  I  repeated  once  more,  with  intense  joy,  "  My 
child  —  my  dear  child !  " 

I  was  ready  to  second  Nature  and  Science  with  all  the 
forces  of  my  intelligence  and  my  heart.  Was  it  not 
this  that  Providence  wanted? 

The  doctor  arrived  at  full  speed,  as  I  had  asked  him. 
On  seeing  me  so  anxious  at  the  bedside  of  this  young 
man,  his  face  betrayed  some  surprise,  and  I  blushed! 
At  my  age  it  was  too  ridiculous. 

"  Baron  d'Hauterive  is  a  relative  of  mine,"  I  then 
said. 

For  the  first  time  I  realised  that  my  husband's  son 
was  my  second  cousin. 

At  the  first  glance  the  doctor  judged  the  case  serious. 

"  Brain  fever,"  he  said,  "  and  it  will  give  us  some 
trouble.  A  shock,  I  suppose,  or  overwork?  " 

"  A  shock  more  probably." 

He  took  the  patient's  temperature. 

"  One  hundred  and  four,"  he  announced,  "  and  it  will 
not  stop  there.  Who  is  going  to  nurse  him  ?  " 

"  His  valet  and  I.     The  man  is  very  devoted  to  him." 

"  That  is  not  enough.  You  must  have  an  experienced 
nurse.  I  know  an  English  one  who  is  free.  Shall  I 
telephone  to  her  to  come  ?  " 

"  Do  all  that  you  think  necessary,  and  save  him  for 
me !  "  I  said,  unconscious  at  the  time  of  the  strange- 
ness of  this  speech. 

"  We  will  try,  we  will  try,"  answered  the  doctor,  with 
a  look,  the  inquisitiveness  of  which  I  can  still  feel. 

In  less  than  an  hour  everything  was  organised  and 
the  rescue  of  the  poor  boy  began.  And  what  a  rescue ! 
A  long  and  trying  one.  Doctor  H — ,  the  nurse,  Uncle 
Georges,  Louis  and  I  all  worked  with  a  will.  For  three 
days  Guy  was  in  extreme  danger.  Ice  on  his  head,  baths, 
subcutaneous  injections  seemed  powerless  to  reduce  his 


PARIS  247 

temperature.  It  even  went  up  to  one  hundred  and  six. 
I  had  the  horrible  impression  that  his  brain  was  under 
some  very  heavy  weight  which  would  crush  him  to  death. 
The  doctor  spoke  of  an  operation.  I  sat  with  him  from 
midnight  to  six,  and  then  again  from  one  to  six.  I 
know  now  something  of  the  force  which  makes  mothers  so 
brave  at  the  bedside  of  their  children.  I  felt  an  exquisite 
joy  in  procuring  a  little  relief  for  my  invalid.  I  had  the 
magnetic  consciousness  that  through  the  darkness  he  felt 
my  presence,  and  that  I  did  him  good.  I  tried  eagerly 
to  seize  the  incoherent  words  of  his  delirium,  in  order 
to  guess  what  could  have  caused  this  horrible  collapse. 
He  often  called  his  mother,  and  then  his  god-mother,  and 
that  made  me  very  happy.  The  name  of  Anne  came 
constantly  to  his  lips.  He  asked  for  millions,  for  money, 
much  money!  He  saw  black  foxes  on  the  walls  of  his 
room ;  he  beat  the  air  with  his  arms  to  chase  them  away. 
After  these  moments  of  excitement,  he  had  fits  of  sudden 
drowsiness  which  terrified  me  still  more.  During  the 
third  night  I  thought  he  was  falling  into  a  mortal  coma, 
and,  according  to  the  doctor's  orders,  I  gave  him  injec- 
tions of  cafeme.  Towards  morning  he  opened  his  eyes, 
a  sort  of  smile  passed  over  his  lips,  he  gave  a  long  sigh, 
and  then  his  eyes  closed  again.  I  thought  he  was  dead. 
I  bent  over  him  in  fearful  anguish.  His  breathing  had 
not  ceased,  it  became  regular  and  gentle.  I  had  an  idea 
that  a  change  had  just  taken  place,  and  went  to  fetch 
the  nurse.  She  examined  the  patient.  Her  face  bright- 
ened with  a  gleam  that  seemed  to  me  divine ;  she  put  her 
hand  on  mine  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

"  I  think  he  is  saved  now,"  she  said  to  me  very  quietly. 

And  he  was  saved. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness,  he  did  not  look 
astonished  to  see  me  with  him. 

"  Have  you  nursed  me,  god-mother  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 


248  ON  THE  BBANCH 

I  nodded. 

"  Have  I  been  very  ill  ?  " 

"  111  enough  for  me  to  have  sent  for  Uncle  Georges 
and  to  have  frightened  me  terribly." 

Memory  returned  to  him,  no  doubt,  for  the  colour 
came  into  his  face,  and  he  did  not  utter  a  word.  After 
the  scene  I  had  witnessed  at  the  Ritz,  I  did  not  doubt  but 
that  the  blow  had  come  from  Madame  de  Mauriones. 
How  had  he  learnt  about  her  liaison  or  flirtation  with 
Prince  K — ?  And  those  millions  which  seemed  to  torture 
him  ?  And  the  black  foxes  ?  Black  foxes !  This  vision 
would  not  have  surprised  me  in  the  brain  of  an  inebriate, 
but  in  the  brain  of  a  lover  I  could  not  explain  it.  Jean 
Noel  would  have  liked  to  know.  I  watched  with  great 
admiration  the  clearing  of  the  faculties  of  "  my  child," 
the  marvellous  process  of  recovery.  I  said  to  myself  that 
everything  is  beautiful  in  Life,  even  illness,  even  what 
we  call  death.  The  only  thing  is,  we  do  not  yet  know 
how  to  look  at  such  things  in  their  proper  light.  In  the 
meantime,  Nature  and  Youth  are  at  work  repairing  the 
physical  ravages  in  Guy's  constitution.  As  to  the  moral 
ravage,  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  judge  of  that. 

Paris. 

On  returning  to  my  hotel,  I  found  a  magnificent 
bouquet  from  the  Lussons.  I  had  at  once  sent  them 
word  about  the  illness  of  my  relative.  Guy,  my  rela- 
tive !  How  droll  it  is !  They  shared  my  anxiety  with  the 
most  affectionate  interest.  Several  times  a  day  they 
asked  for  news  by  telephone.  The  telephone  is  a  ter- 
rible revealer  of  secrets.  It  gives  you  the  true  character 
of  people  in  the  intonations  it  brings  to  you.  I  can 
judge  a  friend  or  a  woman  when  I  hear  their  voice 
through  the  telephone.  Josee  de  Lusson's  came  to  me 
warm,  gay  and  kind.  I  did  not  catch  a  single  harsh  or 


PARIS  249 

false  note  in  it.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  marry  her 
on  the  strength  of  her  voice ! 

Among  the  letters  which  were  waiting  for  me  there 
was  one  from  Sir  William  Randolph.  He  is  spending 
the  winter  at  Torquay,  which  he  finds  dreadfully  Eng- 
lish. His  physical  suffering  is  betrayed  by  an  increase 
of  humour.  He  has  written,  on  the  margins  of  the  Revue 
de  France,  the  criticisms  and  reflections  which  my  novel 
suggested  to  him.  "  I  found  in  it,"  he  says,  "  a  number 
of  thoughts  that  were  comforting,  oxygenised.  Oxygen 
has  become  my  idea  of  all  that  is  good,  you  know.  At 
times  I  was  tempted  to  believe  that  those  thoughts  were 
written  for  that  poor  Englishman  you  met  at  Cannes, 
and  that  they  were  messages.  That  would  be  very  fine, 
but  would  it  not  be  a  great  honour  both  for  Jean  Noel 
and  for  me  ?  " 

What  pleasure  those  words  gave  me!  Very  much 
honour  for  Jean  Noel?  Evidently,  and  I  am  conscious 
of  it.  Oh,  it  is  working,  my  accumulator ! 

Paris. 

This  feeling  of  maternity  continues.  I  was  afraid 
that  it  would  pass  away  with  the  danger  which  had  given 
birth  to  it,  but  it  is  always  there,  clinging  to  my  very 
heart.  I  look  upon  it  as  a  recompense,  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  has  renewed  my  blood  and  my  life,  that  it  has  made 
me  younger.  Guy  is  far  from  well.  He  has  relapses 
of  fever,  followed  by  complete  prostration.  The  doctor 
says  that  he  will  not  be  himself  for  another  week.  Uncle 
Georges,  the  nurse  and  Louis  tend  him  admirably.  I  go 
and  spend  all  the  afternoon  with  him.  The  expression 
of  pleasure  that  my  presence  brings  to  his  face,  his 
grateful  kiss  on  my  hand,  go  straight  to  my  heart.  I 
take  him  flowers,  I  shake  his  pillows,  stroke  them  as 
Colette  did;  I  tempt  his  appetite  with  one  thing  or  an- 


250  ON  THE  BRANCH 

other,  and  it  is  all  very  delightful.  In  calling  him  "  my 
child,"  this  son  of  Madame  d'Hauterive  and  my  husband, 
I  experience  an  enjoyment  which  is  certainly  very  com- 
plex, but  of  which  I  never  tire.  I  sit  near  him  and, 
whilst  crocheting  my  mufflers,  the  only  feminine  work 
which  does  not  exasperate  me,  I  tell  him  the  news  of  the 
day.  I  do  my  best  to  interest  him.  When  I  succeed  in 
this  I  am  satisfied.  He  is  crushed  morally  by  the  humil- 
iation that  infidelity  always  inflicts  on  man  and  woman. 
We  can  console  ourselves  for  the  loss  of  the  being  we  love 
the  most,  but  we  cannot  reconcile  ourselves  to  the  idea  of 
having  been  deceived.  This  is  an  insult  which  penetrates 
to  the  most  sacred  depths  of  our  being.  At  times  the 
memory  of  this  insult  brings  a  deep  colour  to  Guy's  face. 
Ah,  I  know  it  so  well  —  how  it  makes  the  face  burn !  He 
looks  away  from  me,  so  that  I  shall  not  see  his  wound. 
I  can  no  longer  meet  his  gaze.  I  have  forbidden  Louis 
to  give  him  his  correspondence.  He  has  not  asked  for 
it,  either.  Among  the  letters  there  are  three,  I  am  sure, 
from  Madame  de  Mauriones.  The  envelopes  are  of  an 
elegant  shape,  the  paper  slightly  tinted ;  the  large  Gothic 
handwriting  seems  to  me  characteristic  of  the  woman 
she  must  be.  If  only  she  does  not  get  him  back!  Re- 
conciliations are  always  demoralising.  For  these  youth- 
ful passions  a  violent,  unlingering  death  is  better. 
There  is  in  Guy  an  innate  dignity  which  reassures  me. 
To-day  I  was  watching  him  while  he  slept.  When  his 
eyes  are  closed  he  has  exactly  the  energetic  expression 
of  Colette's  grandfather,  of  all  the  Nolays.  Nature 
went  there  to  fetch  this  vein  of  force  that  she  required, 
disdaining  me  and  my  rights.  It  will  help  him  to  get 
the  upper  hand,  and  later  on,  what  will  it  produce  ? 

"  A  great  deal  of  good,  I  hope,"  I  murmured  in- 
wardly. 

A  little  shiver  of  cold  or  pain  made  me  go  to  the  fire. 


PARIS  251 

I  stood  there  warming  myself,  my  gaze  fixed  on  the 
flame,  my  head  slightly  bent.  When  I  raised  it  I  was 
thunderstruck,  literally  hypnotised.  In  the  glass  the 
face  of  my  husband  had  just  appeared;  for  a  few  sec- 
onds I  did  not  realise  that  it  was  a  photograph;  I  had 
the  impression  of  a  vision,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  breathe 
for  fear  that  it  should  vanish.  This  portrait,  which  I 
had  dreaded  and  yet  wished  to  see  in  Guy's  room,  was 
partially  hidden  by  the  automobile  bottle-case  that  Louis 
had  put  in  front  of  it.  I  seized  it  with  trembling  hands. 
For  sixteen  years  I  had  not  seen  that  face,  except  in  my 
own  mind !  I  gazed  at  it  eagerly,  with  an  emotion  which, 
starting  from  the  heart,  spread  like  a  warm  wave  through 
all  my  being.  This  photograph,  which  I  did  not  know, 
must  have  been  taken  during  the  last  month  of  my  hus- 
band's life.  The  light  had  seized  and  revealed  what  no 
one  then  saw  —  approaching  death.  It  was  there  in  the 
thinness  and  the  pallor  of  the  ear,  in  the  hollow  of  the 
temples,  on  the  under  lip.  Between  the  two  eyebrows 
there  was  a  furrow  of  suffering.  All  that  had  escaped 
me !  The  flood  of  affection,  held  back  so  long,  overflowed 
at  last,  and  through  beneficent,  purifying  tears  I  re- 
peated, "  My  beloved,  my  poor  beloved !  "  I  tenderly 
replaced  the  portrait  of  my  husband,  and  then,  half  turn- 
ing round,  my  eyes  rested  on  his  son,  still  asleep,  and  I 
was  glad  to  have  him,  yes  glad !  Was  it  this,  then,  that 
the  enigmatic  smile  of  pity  and  love,  which  I  had  seen 
on  his  lips  after  death,  was  promising  me!  Did  not 
that  smile  mean,  "  A  great  joy  will  spring  out  of  your 
present  grief.  Let  Providence  work  in  its  own  way." 
His  soul,  perhaps,  knew  all! 

Pan*. 

Guy  is  quite  convalescent.     He  has  left  his  bed  for  the 
sofa,  and  walked  round  the  room  a  few  times,  resting  on 


252  ON  THE  BRANCH 

my  arm.  He  tries  to  read.  He  is  interested  in  the 
double  dummy  bridge  which  I  play  with  Uncle  Georges, 
and  he  keeps  our  scores.  To-day  I  allowed  him  to  see  his 
correspondence.  I  took  it  to  him  myself.  The  truth  is 
that  Jean  Noel  was  curious  to  observe  the  effect  of  the 
three  feminine  letters.  On  seeing  them  Le  became  very 
pale;  he  was  expecting  them  and  wishing  for  them,  no 
doubt,  but,  thanks  to  human  perversity,  they  immediately 
provoked  his  contempt  and  anger.  With  dilated  nostrils 
and  set  jaw  he  tore  them  into  two,  and  then  four,  with 
a  snort  of  painful  pleasure  which  I  very  well  divined,  and 
threw  them  into  the  fire.  I  watched  them  burn.  The 
paper,  the  little  black  letters  flamed  up,  but  not  the 
thoughts!  Those  thoughts  which  were  not  doomed  to 
arrive  at  their  destination,  what  became  of  them?  The 
idea  struck  me  that,  like  vain  resolutions,  fruitless  im- 
pulses, aborted  plans,  they  were  the  sparks  of  Life's 
hearth,  that  they  would  be  decomposed  and,  perhaps,  re- 
composed,  and  would  not  be  lost. 

"  From  Robert,"  said  Guy,  opening  an  envelope  with 
his  still  trembling  fingers.  His  expression  softened  on 
reading  the  affectionate  lines  from  his  brother.  Another 
letter  appeared  to  give  him  pleasure. 

"  From  Dawson  City,  god-mother,  from  the  land  of 
gold !  "  he  said,  holding  it  out  to  me ;  "  this  will  interest 
you." 

"  Do  you  know  some  one,  then,  out  there?  " 

"  Yes,  one  of  my  best  friends  is  there,  that  is,  if  there 
are  any  good  friends  —  Max  Rennes." 

"  Max  Rennes !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  but  that  is  the  miner 
who  sent  a  '  Bravo ! '  from  Klondyke  to  Jean  Noel,  after 
reading  her  second  novel." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  that ;  he  has  an  enthusiastic 
young  soul  and  a  bold  and  adventurous  nature,  he  is 
a  Frenchman  of  the  old  type.  He  maintains  that  the 


PARIS  253 

auriferous  wealth  of  Alaska  surpasses  all  imagination. 
He  is  in  despair  at  seeing  it  exploited  by  foreign,  not 
French,  companies.  He  invites  me  to  go  and  join  him 
in  the  Klondyke.  He  wants  me  to  judge  for  myself,  so 
that  I  may  make  it  known  at  home.  I  shall  go!  Oh 
yes,  I  shall  certainly  go!  A  gold-digger!  If  I  had 
known  Life  better  I  should  have  commenced  as  that." 

I  immediately  felt  a  pang  at  my  heart.  My  new 
maternity  is  no  laughing  matter,  it  appears. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  money  enough  to  be 
happy,"  I  said. 

The  young  man  burst  into  laughter  that  was  painful 
to  hear. 

"  You  think  so !  But  everything  is  so  extravagantly 
dear,  god-mother.  Love,  illusions,  happiness !  " 

"  Guy,  Guy!     Is  it  really  you  talking  like  this?  " 

He  rose  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  I,  with  experience  and  knowl- 
edge of  men  and  women.  What  truth  there  is  in  the 
fable  that  teaches  us  that  we  can  have  everything  for  a 
little  gold-dust  ?  No  matter !  I  shall  go  and  fetch  some 
from  out  yonder!  I  will  dig  shafts,  and  with  such 
energy  that  the  very  ice  will  melt  with  it !  I  shall  make 
a  splendid  miner.  En  route  for  Alaska !  " 

With  these  wild  words  my  god-son  threw  himself 
down  on  the  sofa,  patches  of  colour  on  his  face,  and  his 
eyes  brilliant.  I  went  and  sat  down  near  him. 

"  I  am  sure,  anyhow,  that  if  you  find  gold  you  will 
use  it  well,"  I  said,  with  the  intention  of  pacifying  him. 

"  One  cannot  be  sure  of  anything,  nor  of  any  one," 
he  replied  in  a  cutting  tone. 

"  You  cannot  be  sure  of  Uncle  Georges  nor  of  me, 
for  instance  ?  " 

His  face  softened  instantly. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  half  rising.     "  I  am  a  brute." 


254  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Then,  in  a  low,  suppressed  voice,  he  continued :  "  You 
do  not  know  how  treachery  hurts,  how  it  maddens  one." 

"  I  do  know !  Oh,  I  do  know !  "  I  said,  forcing  my- 
self to  smile. 

"  You." 

I  nodded.  He  looked  at  me  in  an  astonished  way, 
and  I  felt  myself  blush  at  the  pity  that  came  into  his 
eyes.  Oh,  that  blush  of  humiliation  that  always  comes 
still! 

"  Poor  god-mother !  "  he  said  gently,  and  taking  my 
hand,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips  with  such  tenderness  and 
respect  that  I  was  very  happy  and  even  rather  proud. 

"  You  see,"  I  said,  "  trials  of  this  sort  resemble  the 
tempering  process.  The  soul,  after  a  high  temperature, 
is  suddenly  cooled  by  grief,  and  thus  acquires  superior 
force.  A  few  days  ago  you  were  still  a  child  — " 

"  A  child !     Say,  rather,  an  imbecile,  an  idiot !  " 

"  No,  a  child.  To-day  you  are  a  man.  In  my  opin- 
ion, the  being  who  has  not  suffered  has  no  value." 

My  god-son  laughed  nervously. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  great  value,  for  I  have  suffered 
very  much,  god-mother,"  he  said  simply. 

I  begin  to  think  that  money  has  something  to  do 
with  the  affair  that  brought  Guy  to  death's  door.  With 
a  mercenary  woman  it  would  be  comprehensible,  but 
the  Marquise  de  Mauriones!  Perhaps  he  wanted  to 
marry  her,  and  she  preferred  Prince  K —  to  him. 

I  expected  a  great  deal  from  the  firmness  of  my 
god-son,  but  I  did  not  expect  so  much.  To-day  I  left 
him  asleep  on  the  sofa  in  his  room,  and  I  was  alone  in 
the  salon  working  near  the  window.  Louis  entered, 
looking  mysterious  and  upset. 

"  There  is  a  person  here  who  wishes  to  speak  to 
madame,"  he  said. 

"  Who  is  the  person  ?  " 


PARIS  255 

"  A  lady."  Then,  rolling  up  the  corner  of  his  apron 
and  colouring,  the  good  fellow  added,  "  It  would,  per- 
haps, be  better  for  Monsieur  Guy  not  to  see  her." 

I  guessed  at  once  who  the  visitor  was. 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied.  "  I  will  see  her.  Where  is 
she?" 

"  In  the  library." 

"  Good." 

I  went  towards  the  adjoining  room,  feeling  a  little 
disturbed  in  my  mind.  A  woman  was  standing  waiting 
for  me.  A  long  mantle  partially  concealed  her  figure, 
a  very  thick-spotted  gauze  veil  hid  her  features  as  com- 
pletely as  a  mask.  On  my  entrance  she  raised  the 
veil,  and  this  little  act  of  confidence  or  audacity  pleased 
me. 

"  Madame  de  Mauriones,"  she  said  simply. 

I  bowed  and  pointed  to  an  arm-chair. 

"  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  —  is  out  of  danger  —  I 
hope  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  broken  voice  which  betrayed  great 
emotion.  "  I  heard  yesterday  that  he  had  had  a  re- 
lapse." 

"  No,  he  is  as  well  as  possible,  but  the  doctor  insists 
on  perfect  quiet." 

She  at  once  guessed  my  thought. 

"  You  may  be  quite  sure  that  I  shall  not  disturb  him. 
It  is  Jean  Noel  whom  I  have  come  to  see,  just  as  one 
goes  to  a  confessor,  without  any  introduction.  Few 
women,  I  should  think,  have  been  hit  more  directly 
than  I  by  your  last  novel.  You  know  not  only  the 
human  heart,  but  Life;  you  must  know  that  there  are 
some  terrible  wheels  in  it  from  which  it  is  nearly  im- 
possible to  escape,  if  merely  the  hem  of  one's  dress  has 
been  caught." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  make  Guy 


256  ON  THE  BRANCH 

understand  that,  so  that  he  may  hate  me  less,  for  he 
does  hate  me,  does  he  not?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  He  has  not  confided  in  me,  and  he  will  not  do  so, 
since  there  is  a  woman  in  the  matter." 

"  You  understand,  though,  that  he  has  had  a  cruel 
disappointment?  " 

"  Yes,  since  he  nearly  died  of  it." 

A  painful  colour  mounted  to  the  cheeks  of  Madame 
de  Mauriones;  she  lowered  her  eyelids,  and  when  she 
raised  them  again  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  That  thought  adds  to  my  sorrow  and  to  my  re- 
morse. I  fear  above  all  that  it  may  affect  him  morally. 
I  should  like  to  know  his  state  of  mind.  Would  it  be 
indiscreet  to  ask  if  he  has  any  plan  ?  " 

"  He  seems  to  be  taken  with  the  gold-fever,"  I  said, 
rather  maliciously. 

The  Marquise  turned  pale  to  her  lips. 

"  Ah ! "  she  said,  crushing  up  the  little  handkerchief 
which  she  held  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  a  nervous  move- 
ment, by  the  bye,  which  is  quite  modern. 

"  He  wants  to  go  and  join  his  friend,  Max  Rennes, 
at  Dawson  City." 

"  Oh,  you  will  not  let  him !  You  must  prevent  him 
at  all  costs ! "  added  Madame  de  Mauriones  vehemently. 

"  I  shall  do  my  utmost.  He  has  been  forced  into  my 
life ;  it  would  be  painful  to  me  to  lose  him  now." 

"  You  alone  can  keep  him.  You  have  a  great  deal  of 
influence  with  him.  He  often  spoke  to  me  of  his  god- 
mother. He  told  me  how  you  had  come  across  each 
other  at  Bagnoles.  You  were,  perhaps,  destined  to  nurse 
him  and  save  him." 

"  Everything  is  providential." 

"  In  that  case,  Providence  has  to  answer  for  very  ter- 
rible things." 


PARIS  257 

"  Things  which  seem  to  us  terrible,  because  we  know 
neither  the  beginning  nor  the  end  of  them,  but  prob- 
ably they  are  not  so." 

"  Then  you  believe,  as  you  say,  that  everything  is  for 
the  best  for  every  one." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  otherwise  the  justice  of  God 
would  not  be  satisfied." 

The  young  Marquise  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened.  The  same  intui- 
tion made  us  both  rise  to  our  feet.  Guy !  And  it  was 
Guy,  roused,  no  doubt,  by  the  presence  of  Madame  de 
Mauriones,  attracted  unawares  by  her.  The  change  in 
his  features,  his  pallor  on  seeing  her,  caused  me  to  move 
towards  him.  Believing  that  I  intended  to  go  away, 
he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  to  prevent  me,  and 
leaned  on  it  in  his  weakness. 

"  Stay,  god-mother,"  he  said.  "  Madame  de  Mauri- 
ones  and  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  each  other,  nothing." 

"  Nothing,"  repeated  the  Marquise,  with  a  haughty 
dignity  that  excited  my  admiration.  "  My  visit  was  to 
Jean  Noel." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  my  god-son  coldly.  "  I 
regret  to  have  interrupted  it,"  and  thereupon  he  took 
his  hand  from  my  bruised  shoulder,  bowed,  and  went 
out  of  the  room.  The  woman  before  me  followed  him 
with  her  eyes,  and  with  her  very  soul  beyond  the  door. 
She  then  fell  back  against  her  arm-chair  as  if  all  strength 
had  deserted  her. 

"  He  is  very  much  changed,"  she  stammered  out.  "  I 
hope  that  this  fresh  emotion  will  not  do  him  any  harm. 
I  was  not  trying  to  meet  him." 

She  caught  the  expression  of  incredulity  on  my  face, 
and  added  — 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?     You  are  right,"  she  said, 


258  ON  THE  BRANCH 

with  that  pale  smile  peculiar  to  her.  "  I  had  persuaded 
myself  that  it  was  only  Jean  Noel  I  had  come  to  see  — 
it  was  him,  too,  and  I  have  seen  him." 

There  was  such  real  grief  in  the  expression  of  her 
face  that,  touched  with  pity,  I  laid  my  hand  on  hers. 

"  Since  you  attribute  to  me  a  certain  knowledge  of 
Life,  believe  in  my  experience  —  these  affections  outside 
the  home  do  not  produce  anything  good,  and  they 
absorb  the  best  sap  of  the  individual." 

"  I  know  it,  but  am  I  not  doomed  to  remain  outside  ? 
Did  I  not  begin  by  a  divorce,  by  running  off  the  rails  ?  " 
said  the  Marquise,  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 

"  Some  one  or  something  will  put  you  back  on  the 
line.  Nature  will  utilise  the  great  forces  she  has  given 
to  you." 

"  You  think  she  has  given  great  forces  to  me  ?  Ah, 
this  time,  Jean  Noel,  your  intuition  is  at  fault." 

"  I  think  not.  It  is  more  than  two  years  now  since 
I  noticed  you  at  the  Hotel  Ritz.  Perhaps  I  had  some 
foreboding  of  what  was  to  happen.  I  was  certainty 
conscious  of  the  individuality  which  made  itself  felt 
in  your  person.  When  you  appeared,  all  the  interest 
seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  you." 

"  Really !  It  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  any  good  about 
oneself,"  said  Madame  de  Mauriones,  with  pretty  frank- 
ness. 

"  Especially  when  it  is  said  sincerely." 

"Thank  you." 

My  visitor  rose.  She  looked  at  me  for  some  seconds 
in  silence. 

"  We  can  never  see  each  other  again,"  she  added, 
with  quivering  lips ;  "  I  feel  that,  and  I  regret  it  with  all 
my  heart.  Write  a  great  many  novels,  though,  so  that 
at  least  I  may  read  you." 

"  No,  only  one  would  tempt  me  now,"  I  said,  "  it 


PARIS  259 

is  the  novel  of  Life,  and  I  shall  not  have  time  enough 
allotted  to  me  for  that.  Some  one  else  will  have  that 
honour." 

"  The  novel  of  Life,"  repeated  Madame  de  Mauriones. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  show  the  texture  of  Life.  F'or 
instance,  take  yourself,  and  consider  for  a  moment  all 
that  it  has  required  to  bring  you  here  to  me  in  this 
flat  in  the  Rue  d'Auguesseau." 

The  Marquise  reflected,  and  waves  of  emotion  coloured 
her  face,  while  astonishment  and  admiration  made  her 
eyes  larger. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  had  never  thought 
of  looking  at  things  like  that." 

"  Well,  try  it.  Amuse  yourself  by  following  the 
consequences  of  a  few  words,  the  effect  of  a  meeting. 
You  will  be  so  amazed  that  you  will  forget  your  sor- 
rows. You  are  too  young  yet,  I  fear,  for  this  kind  of 
work.  I  saw  the  seed  in  your  mind  to-day ;  it  will, 
perhaps,  germinate  later  on  and  bear  fruit,  and  your 
visit  to  Jean  Noel  will  not  have  been  useless." 

"  No,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it,  you  may  be  sure." 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  her,  and  she  pressed  it  slowly, 
feelingly.  She  then  turned  and  looked  at  the  portrait 
of  Guy's  mother,  drew  down  her  veil,  and  moved  towards 
the  door.  Before  crossing  the  threshold  she  turned 
round  and,  in  a  broken,  passionate  voice,  added  — 

"  Do  not  let  him  go  away." 

I  remained  under  the  charm  of  her  warm  beauty, 
her  voice,  her  perfect  manners.  I  know  two  women 
now,  each  bearing  the  name  of  Marquise  de  Mauriones, 
the  one  who  dined  at  the  Ritz,  an  artificial  and  clever 
coquette,  and  then  the  grande  amoureuse  who  has  just 
been  to  see  me.  Which  is  the  true  one?  The  latter,  I 
believe.  Her  fear  lest  Guy  should  do  something  rash, 
and  her  desire  to  prevent  him,  seem  to  prove  this.  The 


260  ON  THE  BRANCH 

certainty  that  their  rupture  is  final  had  made  me  indul- 
gent. Before  leaving  the  library  I  raised  my  eyes  in- 
stinctively to  Colette.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  was 
smiling,  the  jealous  mother. 

I  found  Guy  lying  back  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire, 
his  hands  clasped  at  the  back  of  his  head.  He  did  not 
ask  me  a  single  question,  but  the  whole  of  the  after- 
noon he  watched  me  eagerly  in  order  to  read  my  im- 
pressions. The  visit  of  Madame  de  Mauriones  has,  in 
any  case,  been  balm  to  the  man's  vanity.  He  did  not 
believe  for  an  instant  that  she  came  for  Jean  Noel. 
This  visit  has  raised  him  again  in  his  own  estimation. 
In  his  movements  and  in  the  sound  of  his  voice  I  divined 
an  unconscious  joy.  We  must  now  beware  of  the  re- 
action ! 

Paris. 

I  am  tingling  with  emotion  to  the  very  tips  of  my 
fingers.  I  have  just  been  with  Guy  to  the  station.  He 
is  going  with  Uncle  Georges  to  Algeria,  Tunis  and 
Spain.  Only  a  change  of  moral  and  material  atmos- 
phere can  now  complete  his  cure.  I  suggested  Africa, 
as  I  know  its  charm  and  salutary  effect.  If  Colette 
had  not  charged  him  with  looking  after  me,  he  would 
have  gone  to  Alaska,  but  he  dare  not  forsake  me,  and 
I  am  secretly  delighted.  When  the  train  started,  bear- 
ing him  away,  I  felt  the  deepest  anguish,  and,  after- 
wards, when  he  had  quite  disappeared,  a  void  that  was 
more  painful  still.  This  is  the  grief  that  the  French 
mother  dreads  so  much.  It  is  to  spare  herself  this  that 
she  keeps  her  sons  with  her,  that  she  hinders  them 
from  going  far  away  in  search  of  valuable  forces.  If 
only  she  trained  herself  to  bring  up  her  children  for 
society  at  large,  for  themselves,  she  would  be  better 
prepared  for  sacrifice.  It  seems  to  me  that  human 


PARIS  261 

maternity  begins  with  self-forgetfulness,  otherwise  it 
would  only  be  animal  maternity.  Whatever  may  be 
said,  maternal  love  is  certainly  the  most  selfish  of  all 
sentiments.  Did  I  not  regret  to  see  that  Guy  no  longer 
needed  my  care?  His  convalescence  procured  for  me 
a  hundred  little  delicate  joys;  I  should  have  liked  it  to 
be  still  further  prolonged.  This  last  week  I  have  spent 
the  afternoons  at  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau  with  him  and 
Uncle  Georges.  We  have  had  tea  and  dined  together, 
read,  talked,  argued,  played  bridge.  Madame  de 
Myeres  was  thoroughly  happy.  She  found  herself  once 
more  in  her  element ;  Jean  Noel  was  not  pleased.  He 
kept  pulling  her  dress  all  the  time.  This  evening  he 
had  a  sort  of  sensation  of  release.  He  sat  down  j  oy fully 
to  his  writing-table,  where  the  first  proofs  of  the  novel, 
which  is  soon  to  appear  in  volume  form,  awaited  him; 
he  turned  over  the  leaves  of  his  manuscript-book  01; 
England  most  tenderly.  He  once  more  took  possession 
of  Guy's  god-mother,  and  he  seems  determined  not  to 
let  her  go  again. 

Paris. 

Lady  Randolph  gives  me  news  of  Sir  William,  but, 
alas !  it  is  not  good  news.  "  His  vocal  cords  are  so 
much  affected,"  she  writes,  "  that  we  can  scarcely  hear 
him  at  all.  I  have  never  been  his  intellectual  equal, 
and  I  take  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  feeling  that  I  alone 
understand  him  now."  Does  not  that  show  a  good  kind 
of  womanliness,  that  sentiment? 

Pan*. 

This  afternoon  will,  perhaps,  count  for  something. 
What  has  happened?  Only  a  look.  Ever  since  the 
month  of  December  my  little  friend,  Josee,  has  been 
taking  skating  lessons.  She  is  passionately  fond  of  this 


262  ON  THE  BRANCH 

sport.  I  expressed  a  wish  to  judge  of  her  progress; 
her  mother  and  she  took  me  to  the  rink  at  the  Palais 
de  Glace.  We  arrived  rather  early.  Madame  de  Lus- 
son  and  I  took  our  seats  at  one  of  the  tables  on  the 
raised  circular  platform,  and  Josee  went  to  the  cloak- 
room to  have  her  skates  put  on.  There  were  not  many 
people  there,  and  I  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  dazzling 
arena.  A  feminine  figure,  dressed  entirely  in  black, 
rivetted  my  attention.  With  her  toque  trimmed  with 
an  aigrette  and  fur,  her  hands  in  her  muff,  her  close- 
fitting  skirt  falling  in  folds  lower  down,  she  gave  a 
striking  impression  of  harmony.  A  thick  veil  masked 
her  face.  Her  skating  was  something  better  than  mere 
sport,  she  seemed  swayed  by  an  interior  rhythm  which 
expressed,  in  turn,  desire,  passion,  a  need  of  intoxica- 
tion and  of  oblivion,  and  also  extreme  weariness.  And 
this  solitary  figure,  gliding  like  a  huge  night-bird  over 
the  white  ground,  had  something  sad  about  it,  almost 
pathetic.  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson,  on  coming  back  from 
the  cloak-room,  well  and  duly  shod,  explored  the  track 
at  a  glance. 

"  Ah,  how  annoying!  "  she  exclaimed;  "  she  is  there!  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  Marquise  de  Mauriones,  that  lady  in  black,  who 
shoots  along  and  disappears,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile. 

"  The  Marquise  de  Mauriones !  "  I  repeated,  thunder- 
struck. "Are  you  sure?" 

"  Perfectly  sure.  She  is  very  regular  here,  and  she 
is  my  despair.  By  the  side  of  her,  I  feel  that  I  am  very 
awkward.  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  she 
is  thinking  about  to  be  able  to  forget  that  fear  of  falling 
which  puts  an  iron  bar  into  your  body.  I  shall  make 
no  effect  on  you  now." 

As  the  young  girl  said  this,  her  professor  came  up. 
held  out  his  hand  and  took  her  away.  Her  skating  was 


PARIS  263 

simple  and  bold,  a  well-executed  physical  exercise. 
When  she  returned  to  us,  I  complimented  her  sincerely. 

"  Just  watch  her !  "  she  said,  looking  at  the  Marquise. 
"  Isn't  it  beautiful,  that  suppleness !  Ah,  I  would  give 
everything  to  skate  like  that !  " 

"  You  need  not  envy  her,"  I  said,  impulsively. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  if  you  skated  as  she  does  you  would  no 
longer  be  the  girl  that  you  are,  and  that  would  be  a 
pity." 

Leaning  on  the  railing,  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson 
watched  the  Marquise. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  she  asked. 

"  Slightly." 

"  I  cannot  help  admiring  her.  She  fascinates  and 
exasperates  me.  I  believe  that  if  I  were  a  man  I  should 
fall  in  love  with  her." 

The  professor  came  by  and  took  his  pupil  again. 

"  You  are  very  lucky  to-day,"  said  Madame  de  Lus- 
son ;  "  the  best  skaters  are  here,  Baron  B and  Mon- 
sieur R ,  a  very  scientific  skater.  I  am  not  suf- 
ficiently well  initiated  to  appreciate  what  Josee  calls 
'  their  work,'  but,  it  appears,  they  do  wonders." 

The  rink  had  gradually  filled.  There  were  baby  chil- 
dren, young  men,  girls,  and  stout  ladies  who  were 
skating  in  order  to  get  thinner.  I  amused  myself  by 
comparing  the  correct  and  stiff  movements  of  the 
Englishman  with  the  graceful  and  capricious  style  of 
the  Frenchman.  The  former  appears  jointless,  the  lat- 
ter disjointed.  The  former  seems  to  split  the  ice,  the 
latter  to  skim  over  and  to  caress  it.  I  soon  distinguished 
the  eccentrics  who  are  the  characteristic  figures  of  the 
establishment.  Every  sport  is  required  by  Nature,  but 
of  what  use  is  this  one  ?  Whilst  watching  the  evolutions, 
more  or  less  geometrical,  of  these  human  beings,  I  won- 


264  ON  THE  BRANCH 

dered  what  sort  of  pleasure  they  experienced.  Josee, 
skating  gracefully  back  to  us,  answered  this  question 
without  knowing  it  — 

"  It  is  delicious !  "  she  exclaimed,  touching  the  rail- 
ing. "  The  skates  are  like  wings  on  one's  feet !  " 

We  had  tea  early,  in  order  to  leave  before  the  arrival 
of  the  "  light  cavalry."  Whilst  Madame  de  Lusson  paid 
the  waiter,  I  accompanied  her  daughter  to  the  cloak- 
room. At  the  door  we  met  Madame  de  Mauriones,  who 
was  just  coming  out,  with  her  veil  raised.  She  looked 
straight  at  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson,  then  at  me;  her 
lips  quivered  as  she  bowed  and  passed  by.  All  this  had 
taken  place  in  a  second,  but  that  jealous,  violent  gaze 
meant,  "  Is  that  young  girl  for  Guy  ?  "  For  Guy  — 
Josee  ?  The  suggestion  struck  me  like  an  arrow  —  and 
it  came  from  Madame  de  Mauriones!  Her  look  made 
a  curious  image  rise  in  my  brain,  that  of  a  long,  dark 
road,  which  grew  narrower  farther  on,  and  at  the  end 
of  which  an  intense  light  appeared.  What  does  it 
mean?  In  the  mean  time  I  am  once  more  greatly  dis- 
turbed in  my  mind. 

Paris. 

My  novel  has  just  appeared  in  book  form.  Josee  has 
been  to  the  Boulevards  and  to  the  principal  streets, 
solely  to  see  it  in  the  shop-windows,  and,  quite  de- 
lighted, her  pretty  grey  eyes  shining  with  affection  and 
pleasure,  she  came  to  me,  saying,  "  Madame  de  Myeres, 
it  is  at  Achille's  and  everywhere,  everywhere."  Yes, 
for  some  time  it  will  be  everywhere.  Its  title  and  my 
name  will  glare  in  all  the  windows,  in  all  the  news- 
papers, people  will  talk  about  it,  discuss  it.  Two  or 
three  times  a  day  I  shall  receive  yellow  envelopes  from 
the  Courier  de  la  Presse,  letters  from  friends,  from 
strangers.  It  will  all  be  very  exciting.  Then  the 


PARIS  265 

ebullition,  after  reaching  the  highest  degree  it  is 
destined  to  attain,  will  gradually  diminish.  It  will  last 
a  more  or  less  long  time,  according  to  the  success  that 
the  book  attains.  The  question  is  on  what  does  success 
depend  ?  On  the  value  of  the  work  ?  No,  not  always ; 
but  on  whether  it  touches  the  fibres  of  the  majority  or 
of  the  minority.  A  success  certainly  indicates  the  state 
of  mind  of  the  masses.  Precursors  are  doomed  not  to 
be  present  at  their  own  triumph.  Providence,  who  em- 
ploys them  in  preparing  its  ways,  gives  them,  I  am 
sure,  intense  inward  satisfaction.  Monticelli,  the  im- 
pressionist painter,  one  of  the  masters  of  the  present 
school,  left  Paris  cried  down  by  the  critics,  misunder- 
stood, like  Nature  itself,  and  took  refuge  in  a  quiet 
corner  of  Marseilles,  his  native  city.  He  painted  small 
pictures  in  order  to  live  from  day  to  day,  exhibited 
them  sometimes  in  the  streets  at  the  foot  of  some  tree, 
offered  them  for  twelve  shillings,  and  frequently  did 
not  sell  them.  One  day,  impelled  by  the  consciousness 
of  his  own  genius,  he  hurried  after  a  customer  who  had 
bargained  with  him  in  the  most  imbecile  way. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  catching  him  by  the  arm,  "  remem- 
ber that  it  is  not  for  you  I  have  worked,  but  for  France." 

Better  still,  the  great  artist  had  been  working  for 
Life.  In  our  country  real  criticism  no  longer  exists. 
In  America  it  does  not  yet  exist.  Over  there  the  pub- 
lishers send  their  new  books  for  review  to  young  girls, 
whose  intellect  is  not  ripe,  and  who  pay  for  reading 
them  by  writing  anything  about  anybody.  I  have  very 
naively  sought  for  lessons  and  counsel  in  the  articles 
by  literary  men  who  have  reviewed  my  books.  With 
the  exception  of  two,  all  of  them  have  been  satisfied 
with  giving  a  more  or  less  correct  resume  of  my  novels ; 
they  have  then  "  unpacked  "  their  own  ideas,  and  ended 
by  stringing  together  a  few  adjectives,  eulogistic  or 


266  ON  THE  BRANCH 

otherwise,  for  my  benefit.  In  a  word,  they  have  only 
supplied  copy.  The  criticism  of  literary  productions 
or  of  works  of  art  ought  not  to  be  given  indiscrim- 
inately to  every  one.  A  judgment,  pronounced  by  an 
incompetent  writer,  may  ruin  or  slay  his  man.  In 
order  to  obtain  the  right  of  censure,  the  critic,  as  well 
as  the  magistrate,  ought  to  undergo  examinations  ad 
hoc,  he  ought  to  prove  that  he  possesses  the  necessary 
knowledge,  and  that  he  is  endowed  with  the  particular 
sense  which  the  function  requires.  In  this  way  we 
should,  perhaps,  have  the  "  good  critic."  The  good 
critic,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  man  who  would  study  the 
construction,  the  style,  the  composition  of  a  work,  and 
would  respect  the  conception  of  the  author.  The  man 
who  knows  that  in  the  most  imperfect  of  human  pro- 
ductions there  is  something  good,  and  who  would  apply 
himself  to  bring  it  to  light  —  the  man,  in  fact,  who 
would  not  serve  up  his  criticism  warm,  and  who  would 
refrain  from  judging  in  a  rapid,  superficial  way,  works 
which  have  cost  months  and  months  of  toil.  That 
would  be  justice.  Alas,  the  earth  will  not  possess  justice 
until  it  arrives  at  its  golden  age,  and  has  itself  been 
brought  to  the  point.  I  look  with  fear  and  amazement 
at  the  pile  of  volumes  that  the  publisher  has  sent  me. 
Poor  little  yellow-covered  books!  They  are  to  carry 
about,  here  and  there  and  far  away,  the  thoughts, 
images  and  sentiments  which  I  have  had  in  my  mind. 
These  books  will  reprint  them  in  other  minds.  For 
what  end?  Ah,  I  know  not.  There  are  now  in  the 
world  three  little  accumulators,  the  energy  of  which  has 
been  drawn  from  my  soul.  God  grant  that  they  may 
produce  much  life,  much  good! 

Paris. 

Guy  writes  to  me  by  every  post;  his  letters  are  like 
a  cheerful  ray  of  sunshine  to  me.     I  finger  them  with 


PARIS  267 

delight;  they  are  full  of  affectionate  words.  Affection- 
ate words !  I  little  thought  that  there  were  any  more 
for  me  in  this  world.  If  any  one  had  told  me  this  time 
last  year  that  I  should  be  called  "  Dear  god-mother," 
"  God-mother  darling,"  and  this  by  the  son  of  my  hus- 
band, how  I  should  have  bounded  with  indignation ! 
And  invisible  forces,  Providence,  were  going  on  pre- 
paring this  surprise  for  me.  Guy  affects  a  gaiety 
which  does  not  deceive  me.  Ah!  I  know  it  so  well,  his 
present  state  of  mind.  He  looks  at  the  sea,  the  sky,  the 
beautiful  horizons  of  Africa,  but  he  only  sees  Madame 
de  Mauriones,  her  eyes  encircled  with  paint,  her  sensual 
lips.  The  remembrance  of  her  treachery  gnaws  at  his 
heart,  freezes  him,  and  he,  too,  doubtless  wonders, 
where?  when?  how?  Then  he  makes  desperate  efforts 
of  the  imagination  to  see  and  hear,  and  he  sees  and 
hears  —  his  throat  becomes  dry,  his  anger  smoulders 
within  him.  He  returns  to  the  hotel,  persuaded  that 
Nature  is  a  fraud,  that  Life  has  nothing  in  it  which 
makes  it  worth  living  —  and  all  this  is  very  painful. 
Although  I  know  all  this,  the  idea  of  his  marriage  with 
Josee  is  very  dear  to  me.  What  a  splendid  couple  they 
would  make!  I  should  like  to  unite  these  forces,  to 
give  them  to  Life.  But  is  he  in  a  state  to  fall  in  love 
with  any  one  at  all?  Perhaps.  Grief  sensibilises  the 
individual  in  an  extraordinary  way,  and  at  twenty-six 
one  is  in  love  with  love.  A  woman  is  more  likely  to 
marry  again  at  the  end  of  a  year  of  widowhood  than 
after  several  years.  Did  not  Chopin  fall  in  love  with 
George  Sand  at  first  sight,  six  months  after  his  separa- 
tion from  the  girl  he  had  loved  so  long?  This  psycho- 
logical, or  physiological  fact  gives  me  some  hope. 


268  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Paris. 

The  Randolphs  have  left  Torquay  and  have  returned 
home.  At  Sir  William's  request,  I  had  sent  him  the 
manuscript  of  my  book  on  England.  He  wanted  to 
read  it  before  "  going  aWay."  He  has  just  sent  me  his 
criticism  of  it.  This  gave  me  very  great  pleasure. 
Among  other  things,  he  said,  "  You  have  been  quite 
fair.  This  is  so  much  the  more  extraordinary,  as  the 
sense  of  justice  is  very  feeble  in  women.  Naturalists 
have  omitted  to  note  this  characteristic,  out  of  polite^ 
ness,  no  doubt.  I  mention  it,  as  I  am  not  polite. 
Certain  chapters  of  your  work  would  not  have  been 
written  if  you  had  not  come  to  Staffordshire,  and,  ac- 
cording to  you,  they  were  destined  to  be  written.  I 
was  a  predestined  agent,  then ;  a  sort  of  co-operator  ? 
You  see  I  am  happy  and  proud  about  it.  There  is  good 
in  your  ideas  sometimes."  Then  he  added  at  the  end 
of  his  letter,  "  I  have  no  voice,  you  know,  now,  and  my 
silence  troubles  Freddy.  He  questions  my  face  all  the 
time  with  an  anxious  look  that  is  intensely  human, 
in  order  to  find  out  if  I  am  angry  with  him,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  reassure  him  by  caresses.  A  voiceless  master, 
that  must  be  sad  for  a  dog,  don't  you  think  so  ?  "  Poor 
Sir  William !  He  has  now  at  Simley  Hall  his  son,  his 
daughter  and  his  grandchildren.  They  are  all  there 
by  his  wish.  Does  he,  then,  feel  that  the  hour  of  his 
departure  is  approaching? 

Paris. 

It  is  really  as  though  Providence  delights  in  astonish- 
ing Jean  Noel,  in  multiplying  surprises  for  him.  Yes- 
terday I  was  dining  at  the  Lussons'.  After  soup, 
Josee's  father  suddenly  asked  me  — 

"  Were  the  Myeres  who  owned  the  Chateau  of  Cha- 
vigny,  in  the  Department  of  Cher,  relatives  of  yours?  " 


PARIS  269 

This  unexpected  question  caused  me  such  a  shock 
that  the  fork  fell  from  my  hand. 

"  Very  near  relatives,"  I  replied,  forcing  myself  to 
smile ;  "  my  husband  and  I  were  those  Myeres.  I  lived 
at  Chavigny  fifteen  years." 

My  host  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  in  consterna- 
tion. "  I  did  not  know ;  I  ought  to  have  found  out." 

"  There  is  no  harm  done,  I  assure  you.  Why  did  you 
ask  me  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  no  particular  reason." 

"  Ah,  but  I  want  to  know  now.  You  have  roused 
my  curiosity." 

"  Well,  then,  Chavigny  is  to  be  sold  again.  The 
people  who  bought  it  —  very  common  people,  it  appears 
—  have  not  succeeded  in  getting  into  society  in  the 
neighbourhood,  so  they  now  want  to  get  rid  of  it  and 
leave  the  locality.  It  has  been  offered  to  me  this  au- 
tumn and  we  have  been  over  it.  Josee  is  quite  in  love 
with  it,  and  is  worrying  me  to  put  her  dowry  into  it." 

"  Oh,  Madame  de  Myeres,"  exclaimed  the  young  girl, 
"  I  did  not  know." 

She  was  sitting  next  to  me ;  I  put  my  hand  on  hers  and 
pressed  it  affectionately. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  of  paining  me.  It  will  soon  be 
sixteen  years  since  I  left  Chavigny.  I  am  no  longer 
the  same  person.  It  would  be  no  more  to  me  now 
than  an  empty  nest,  and  I  would  not  have  it  again  at 
any  price.  Nothing  would  give  me  such  delight  as 
to  see  you  the  mistress  of  it.  I  would  have  chosen  you 
among  a  thousand." 

Josee's  face  brightened  with  joy. 

"  You  hear,  father?  "  she  said. 

"  I  hear,"  answered  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  with  an  ag- 
gravating smile. 


270  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  You  like  Chavigny  very  much,  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Like  is  not  the  word.  I  loved  it  at  first  sight  like 
a  person.  The  beech-avenue,  the  row  of  old  elms,  the 
wood  that  serves  as  a  background,  give  it  such  a  warm, 
homelike  look.  It  has  a  beautiful  flight  of  stone  steps." 

The  stone  steps !  Those  words  made  the  memory  of 
Colette's  confession  flame  up  in  my  mind,  and  I  felt 
myself  blush. 

"  I  have  been  dreaming  of  it  ever  since,"  added  my 
little  friend. 

"  And  talking  of  it,"  put  in  Madame  de  Lusson. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  my  lawyer  this  morning," 
continued  my  host.  "  It  appears  that  there  are  three 
farms  quite  near  that  could  be  bought,  and  it  would  be 
an  excellent  affair." 

"  Buy  it !  buy  it !  "  I  said  eagerly.  "  I  shall  be  spe- 
cially grateful  to  you." 

"  The  pleasure  of  living  at  Chavigny  would,  perhaps, 
decide  Mademoiselle  Josee  to  marry,  and  we  should  have 
her  quite  near." 

The  girl  put  two  fingers  on  her  lips  and  threw  8  kiss 
to  her  father. 

After  dinner  we  talked  again  for  a  long  time  of  this 
purchase;  I  hope  it  will  be  concluded,  all  the  more  so 
as  Monsieur  de  Lusson  has  a  son  by  a  first  wife,  and  he 
probably  intends  to  leave  him  the  "  Commanderie  de  Rou- 
ziers."  My  anger  had  made  me  quite  indifferent  to 
the  fate  of  Chavigny.  I  ought  not  to  say  indifferent, 
for  I  had  rejoiced  to  know  that  it  was  in  the  hands  of 
ignorant  parvenus  who  would  disfigure  and  mutilate 
it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  husband  would  suffer  by 
that.  I  had  been  abominable,  I,  too.  This  marriage 
with  Josee  would  put  Guy  back  in  the  home  nest. 
Could  such  a  thing  really  come  to  pass?  It  often 
happens,  alas  that  the  forces  we  obey  seem  to  push 


PARIS  271 

our  barques  along  towards  certain  places  on  the  shore, 
and  then,  suddenly,  without  any  visible  or  known  rea- 
sons, they  change  their  direction  and  take  them  to  the 
opposite  point. 

Paris. 

Poor  Guy !  I  know  now  the  cause  of  his  rupture 
with  Madame  de  Mauriones.  Chance  —  no,  not  chance, 
but  Providence  always  —  Providence  has  put  me  in  pos- 
session of  this  secret  which  he  could  not  confide  to  me. 
This  afternoon  I  went  alone  to  the  Ritz  to  tea.  There 
was  only  one  seat  free  in  the  first  room,  between  the 
fire-place  and  the  door.  I  took  it,  as  there  was  no 
other.  At  the  next  table  to  mine  there  were  two  old 
men,  well  known  in  society.  "  Love  affairs,"  the  elder 
one  was  saying,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar,  "  what  nonsense ! 
They  don't  exist,  they  never  have  existed.  I  have  not 
been  more  unfortunate  than  other  men " 

"  You  have  been  more  fortunate." 

"  No,  but  anyhow  one  might  have  fancied  —  ah  well 
—  my  dear  fellow.  I  have  always  paid,  always,  even 
when  dresses  did  not  cost  two  hundred  pounds.  Now- 
a-days,  when  women  adorn  themselves  with  jewellery 
like  the  Byzantine  Empresses,  the  budget  of  most  of  the 
society  women  balances  as  badly  as  that  of  the  demi- 
mondaines,  and  they  all  make  up  their  deficit  in  the 
same  way  —  they  have  no  choice." 

At  that  moment  the  Marquise  de  Mauriones  crossed 

the  hall.     The  Due  D winked  at  his  companion, 

and,  lowering  his  voice,  said  — 

"  Prince  K must  know  what  that  costs  him  — 

that  love-affair ! " 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  she  goes  the  pace  ?  " 

This  slang  term,  so  abominably  expressive,  applied 
to  the  grande  dame  that  I  know,  gave  me  a  veritable 
shock. 


212  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  She  gallops,  even,"  replied  my  neighbour.  "  Her 
husband  allows  her  an  income  of  sixty  thousand  francs, 
her  private  fortune  is  not  as  much  as  that,  and  she 
spends  at  the  rate  of  three  hundred  thousand  a  year. 
She  has  on  her  shoulders  at  this  minute  a  stole  of  black 
fox  absolutely  unique,  it  appears,  which  all  the  women 
envy  her.  It  represents  the  marriage  dowry  of  a  middle- 
class  woman  and  must  be  a  present  from  the  Prince,  no 
doubt." 

"  If  Hauterive  heard  you  say  that  —  she's  his  fancy." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  did  not  know  that.  In  our  world  the 
ground  is  so  hollow  that  one  does  not  know  where  to 
tread  to  avoid  quagmires.  Good  heavens,  he  might  have 
heard  me  say  that,  or  any  one  else.  It's  current  gossip." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  said  gossip 
were  the  cause  of  the  brain  fever  which  nearly  took 
him  off." 

The  Due  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Life  will  teach  him  as  it  has  taught  us.  It  gives 
deuced  hard  lessons  sometimes." 

Upon  this  the  two  men  rose  and  moved  away. 

Ah  yes,  poor  Guy!  What  a  tempest  such  a  revela- 
tion must  have  produced  in  him!  And  so  this  was 
why,  in  his  delirious  voice,  he  kept  asking  so  pitifully 
for  millions;  this  is  why,  in  his  fever,  he  saw  black 
foxes  everywhere.  The  tell-tale  stole  had  stamped  them 
on  his  brain.  The  Marquise  was  his  first  love.  He 
had  loved  both  the  woman  and  the  great  lady;  he  had 
believed  in  her  more  than  in  God.  Did  he  not  say  to 
me,  "  If  the  goddess  I  adore  is  false,  there  is  no  true 
one."  And  the  goddess  had  sold  her  favours.  As 
for  Madame  de  Mauriones,  I  cannot  help  pitying  her. 
After  her  divorce,  out  of  vanity  and  for  bravado,  she 
wanted  to  continue  living  in  the  same  style  as  when 
she  was  Duchesse  de  Longwy.  Quite  alone,  she  had 


PARIS  273 

been  compelled  to  hold  her  own  in  the  world  with  her 
creditors.  The  struggle  had  exhausted  her  strength, 
so  that  she  had  fallen  in  among  those  wheels  of  which 
she  had  spoken,  and  her  honour,  her  peace  and  her 
happiness  had  passed  under  them.  She  must  suffer 
through  herself  intensely.  And  on  seeing  her,  in  her 
well-appointed  victoria,  some  poverty-stricken  woman 
says,  perhaps,  with  a  heart  full  of  bitterness  — 

"  There  goes  one  who  has  a  good  time  in  this 
world." 

Paris. 

After  sad  things  come  the  consoling  ones.  It  is  the 
eternal  play  of  light  and  shade.  Madame  de  Lusson 
had  left  the  carriage  at  her  daughter's  disposal,  and 
the  latter  came  one  day  to  take  me  to  the  Bois.  The 
close  companionship  of  the  carriage,  with  a  person  one 
likes  or  who  is  congenial,  gives  an  entirely  unique  sen- 
sation. The  narrow  space  is  filled  with  human  elec- 
tricity, glances  meet  like  feelers,  the  voice  takes  a 
gentle  distinctness,  and  words  fall  more  deeply  within 
you.  Nowhere  better  than  between  these  padded  walls, 
which  act  as  an  insulator,  does  one  have  the  impression 
of  an  absolute  tete-a-tete;  and  a  tete-a-tete  out  in  the 
street,  in  the  midst  of  and  yet  outside  the  crowd,  always 
seems  to  me  delicious.  As  we  went  up  towards  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe,  a  certain  liveliness  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  me,  as  though  my  companion  had  trans- 
mitted to  me  a  little  of  her  splendid  vitality. 

"  I  love  to  imprison  you  like  this,  Madame  de 
Myeres,"  she  said  prettily.  "  At  least  we  can  talk." 

And  we  did  talk.  I  am  teaching  her  to  look  at  in- 
trinsic Life.  I  let  her  place  herself  at  the  same  point 
with  me,  at  that  point  from  which  one  sees  something 
of  its  grandeur  and  its  beauty.  Her  grey  eyes,  which 
seem  to  listen,  light  up  with  comprehension,  and  it  is 


274  ON  THE  BRANCH 

with  joy  that  I  hear  her  say,  "  I  had  never  thought  of 
that.  Oh,  I  see,  I  see." 

To-day  the  Bois  looked  to  me  divine.  There  was  sap 
in  all  the  buds,  under  the  trees  a  silence  of  expectation, 
broken  by  a  few  timid  notes  of  love.  A  gentle,  living 
air  caressed  the  branches,  the  thickets,  the  very  grass, 
as  though  to  hasten  the  resurrection.  It  must  be  good 
to  be  a  tree  in  the  spring,  I  thought  enviously.  Nature, 
too,  'has  its  psychological  moments,  and  that  was  one 
of  them.  I  congratulated  myself  on  having  surprised 
it.  The  remembrance  of  my  winter  drive  with  Guy 
in  the  same  avenues  brought  me  back  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Lusson. 

"  Well,  you  do  not  talk  any  more  of  Chavigny,"  I 
said  to  her.  "  Has  the  affair  fallen  through?  " 

"  Oh  no,  it's  going  on  in  the  right  way,"  she  an- 
swered, "  and  I  am  wildly  delighted  about  it."  Then, 
with  a  penitent  air,  she  added,  "  I  ought  not  to  let  you 
see  that  I  am,  perhaps." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  girl.  If,  after  all,  some 
one  else  were  to  have  it,  it  would  be  a  real  grief  to  me. 
The  next  thing  is  now  to  find  a  master  for  it  to  my 
taste.  I  am  terribly  difficult  to  please." 

"  And  what  about  me !  "  said  the  young  girl,  laugh- 
ing. "..I  very  much  fear  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
marry,  and  my  parents  are  quite  bent  on  it,"  she  added 
seriously. 

u  Is  the  idea  of  marriage  repugnant  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ask  for  nothing  better  than  to  have  a  com- 
panion for  my  journey  through  life,  but  I  want  an 
agreeable  companion." 

"  I  understand  that." 

"  Well,  all  who  have  been  introduced  so  far  have 
been  uncongenial  to  me,  at  first  sight." 


PARIS  275 

"  Because  not  one  of  them  was  the  right  man.  You 
have  not  met  your  fate." 

"  Well,  then,  why  does  Providence  let  so  many  old 
ladies  busy  themselves  uselessly  ?  " 

"  To  stir  them  up  a  little,  I  fancy.  The  woof  of  life 
is  very  thick,  but  all  its  threads  serve  for  something, 
you  may  be  sure  of  that.  When  Providence  sends  you 
the  man  who  is  to  be  your  husband,  you  will  love  him, 
even  if  he  should  net  have  any  of  the  qualities  you 
would  like  him  to  have." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should.  Perhaps,  though,  I  am  des- 
tined to  be  an  old  maid." 

"  You  don't  look  as  though  you  are." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  girl,  with  that  delight- 
ful frankness  which  makes  her  so  rare  a  creature.  "  And 
yet  that  would  seem  less  hard  to  me  than  to  become  the 
wife  of  certain  men  of  my  acquaintance." 

"  You  don't  ask  for  a  perfect  being,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  Perfectible  beings  are  much  more 
interesting." 

"  That  is  true." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  should  want  my  husband  to  be 
a  gentleman,  in  the  full  acceptation  of  the  word,  a 
man  of  the  world,  but  not  a  society  man ;  I  should  like 
him  to  be  very  straightforward  and  to  be  able  to  ride 
well  over  all  obstacles." 

"  All  that  is  quite  reasonable,"  I  said,  suppressing  a 
smile. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  ?  I  should  like  him,  too,  to  be  gay,  to 
have  a  taste  for  a  wide,  active  life,  and  I  should  want 
him  to  feel  the  necessity  of  being  useful  to  his  country 
and  to  his  fellow-beings.  Is  that  asking  too  much?  " 

"  No  —  go  on." 

"  I  should  like  him  to  be  endowed  with  plenty  of 


276  ON  THE  BRANCH 

intuition,  and  to  comprehend  Nature  and  art,  and  be 
interested  in  everything,  everything." 

I  was  rejoicing  inwardly,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that 
Guy  was  the  very  man  of  this  dream. 

"  All  those  are  the  elements  for  great  happiness,  for 
good,  wholesome  happiness,"  I  said,  delighted.  "  And 
all  that  is  to  be  found." 

"  Not  among  the  young  men  of  our  world.  They  are 
badly  brought  up,  absurd.  They  even  spoil  the  pleasure 
of  dancing  for  me.  When  I  come  back  from  a  ball 
I  always  say,  '  It  wasn't  worth  the  trouble.' ' 

I  began  to  laugh. 

"  Not  very  long  ago  a  young  man  of  my  acquaintance 
spoke  to  me  of  girls  in  the  same  terms.  He  said  they 
did  not  inspire  him  with  any  confidence." 

"  I  don't  blame  him,  they  are  rather  alarming ;  but 
it  is  not  their  fault.  Thanks  to  the  education  they 
receive  they  feel  Life,  and  then  they  are  not  allowed  to 
take  any  part  in  it.  Many  of  them  have  generous 
ideas,  a  wish  to  do  good ;  they  beg  with  all  their  might 
and  main  to  be  permitted  to  organise  societies  for 
relieving  the  poor,  but  they  are  always  answered, 
*  When  you  are  married ! '  They  are  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  dress  and  frivolities.  Idleness  either  cor- 
rupts or  weakens  them.  And  all  that,  you  know, 
Madame  de  Myeres,  is  because  parents  dare  not  alter  the 
approved  routine.  I  can  say  this  without  any  disloy- 
alty to  my  parents,  for  they  have  gone  as  far  in  their 
concessions  as  the  manners  and  customs  of  our  country 
allow.  During  my  stay  at  Simley  Hall,  two  years  ago, 
I  envied  the  English  girls  their  active  life,  their  com- 
radeship with  real  young  men.  All  the  girls  there  have 
their  schools  or  clubs,  an  interest  in  life  of  some  kind. 
They  do  something,  in  fact." 


PARIS  277 

"  Why  should  you  not  take  the  initiative  in  imitating 
them?" 

Josee  looked  at  me,  hesitated,  and  then,  with  a  pretty 
smile,  she  said  — 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  secret.  There  are 
six  of  us  now  who  are  doing  something." 

"  Oh,  what  good  news ! "  I  exclaimed,  delighted. 
"And  what  are  you  doing?" 

"  Well,  this  is  how  it  is.  My  greatest  friend,  Jocelyne 
Montford,  lost  her  father,  and  as  soon  as  she  came  into 
her  share  of  the  family  fortune  she  allowed  herself  the 
luxury  of  having  a  family ;  she  made  a  home  for  twelve 
little  girls,  twelve  poor  little  deserted  creatures.  She 
brings  them  up  at  her  own  expense  in  a  little  house 
with  a  garden,  that  she  has  rented  at  Neuilly.  A  Scotch 
lady  offered  to  help  her,  and  she  is  the  matron  there. 
With  only  one  servant,  Mrs.  Ardoch  manages  every- 
thing. You  cannot  imagine  anything  as  nice  as  that 
home.  From  attic  to  cellar,  in  the  very  atmosphere 
even,  the  taste  and  refinement  of  two  ladies  can  be 
felt." 

"  Who  teaches  these  children  ?  " 

"  They  go  to  the  ordinary  day-school.  At  eight 
o'clock,  when  they  start,  they  have  had  breakfast  and 
put  the  house  to  rights,  under  the  superintendence  of 
the  servant.  My  friend  neglects  nothing  in  order  to 
make  them  feel  that  they  have  a  home.  Mrs.  Ardoch 
is  Mother  Mary,  and  Mademoiselle  Montfort  Mother 
Jocelyne.  Four  other  girls  and  I  go  to  Neuilly  regu- 
larly on  Thursdays  and  Sundays.  We  give  them  gym- 
nastic and  singing  lessons.  We  examine  their  linen 
and  their  clothes  to  see  what  they  need.  We  go  to 
the  Bon  Marche  and  buy  remnants,  and  we  look  out 
for  bargains,  like  economical  housewives.  Nothing  is 


278  ON  THE  BRANCH 

more  amusing.  Ah,  they  do  wear  out  their  things 
though,  these  little  brats ;  but  they  are  all  so  well,"  said 
Josee,  with  maternal  satisfaction.  "  It  is  curious,  but 
when  we  are  working  for  them  we  have  noticed  that 
we  get  a  special,  delicious  kind  of  warmth  in  the  tips 
of  our  fingers.  It  is  the  effect  of  imagination,  per- 
haps." 

"  Oh  no,"  I  said,  "  for  I  feel  it  myself  when  I  am 
crocheting  my  poor  mufflers.  It  is  a  kind  of  electricity, 
the  fluid  of  fraternity,  perhaps.  When  savants  study 
the  exteriorisation  of  man  they  will  discover  the  phe- 
nomenon. But  how  did  your  families  look  upon  this 
initiative?  " 

"  With  very  unwilling  eyes.  Mademoiselle  Montf  ort 
had  to  do  battle,  but  we  finished  by  winning  the  day. 
They  are  all  obliged  to  own  that  we  are  doing  some 
good.  Our  mothers  are  more  inclined  to1  be  proud  of 
us  now.  The  comic  part  is  that  they  go  about  priding 
themselves  on  their  liberal  spirit  and  praise  themselves 
for  our  emancipation.  Mademoiselle  Montfort  was 
really  a  pioneer.  Her  example  will  be  followed.  I 
have  four  boys  at  Rouziers,  you  know,"  added  Josee, 
blushing. 

"  And  you  never  told  me  that,  you  sly  child." 

"  It  wasn't  worth  while." 

"  Who  takes  care  of  them  ?  " 

"  My  old  English  governess.  She  has  deserted  me 
for  them,  and  she  brings  them  up  wonderfully  well. 
When  I  am  married,"  added  the  young  girl,  with  a 
mocking  intonation,  "  I  shall  have  twelve  of  them. 
Jocelyne  and  I  will  then  let  our  children  marry  each 
other.  Another  of  our  friends  is  trying  educating  boys 
and  girls  together.  Oh,  we  have  some  magnificent 
plans!" 


PARIS  279 

"  I  hope  you  will  persevere  when  you  are  married," 
I  said,  gaily. 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  not  find  any  men  courageous 
enough  to  marry  philanthropic  girls.  Anyhow,  we 
have  promised  each  other  only  to  marry  men  capable 
of  interesting  themselves  in  our  work.  We  are  resolved 
not  to  let  ourselves  be  absorbed  by  them.  A  whole 
woman  for  a  husband  is  too  much." 

This  delicious  enormity  brought  a  smile  through  the 
refreshing  tears  which  had  filled  my  eyes.  Have  I  seen, 
then,  to-day,  at  the  same  time  as  the  spring,  the  begin- 
ning of  the  evolution  which  is  to  give  us  true  mothers? 
May  God  grant  it.  France  stands  in  need,  not  of  chil- 
dren, but  of  mothers. 

Paris. 

The  return  of  Guy  and  Uncle  Georges  gave  me  many 
joys  that  I  never  thought  to  experience  again  in  this 
world.  For  sixteen  years  I  have  had  no  one  to  expect, 
and  I  had  forgotten  the  sweetness  and  the  emotion  of 
these  home-comings.  The  morning  of  their  arrival  I 
went  to  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau  to  see  that  everything  was 
right  and  to  take  some  flowers  there.  I  was  surprised 
to  find  the  little  garden  full  of  life,  after  leaving  it  two 
months  before,  still  and  silent.  The  sycamores  had 
leaves  and  birds,  the  lilacs  were  in  flower,  the  rose-trees 
in  bud,  and  around  the  four  ivy-covered  walls  there  were 
violets  and  primroses.  When  I  went  out  on  to  the  stone 
steps  a  gust  of  perfumed  air  fanned  my  face,  and,  with 
a  long  breath,  I  absorbed  a  little  of  the  spring.  It  is 
curious  how  thoroughly  I  enjoy  this  season  of  the  year. 
It  is  as  though  it  were  the  first  —  or  the  last  I  am  ever  to 
see.  I  realise  that  a  multitude  of  various  saps  is  destined 
to  aliment  the  life  of  man,  and  the  life  of  man  to  aliment 


280  ON  THE  BRANCH 

universal  Life.  I  have  the  consciousness  of  being  really 
in  the  midst  of  eternity. 

Louis  took  me  all  through  the  flat,  and  I  complimented 
him  on  the  perfect  order  to  which  it  testified.  A  pile  of 
house  linen  which  I  had  ordered  had  arrived  the  evening 
before.  I  looked  through  it,  article  by  article,  with 
childish  satisfaction.  That  odour  of  linen,  which  re- 
called my  own  housekeeping,  was  most  fragrant.  I  put 
the  flowers  I  had  brought  here  and  there.  That  little 
ground-floor  flat  (so  gay  at  this  season,  so  comfortable 
in  winter),  which  gets  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  makes 
me  envious.  I  should  like  to  end  my  days  there  tran- 
quilly. Louis  took  me  into  his  confidence  about  the  sur- 
prise he  had  in  store  for  his  master.  During  Guy's  ab- 
sence he  has  been  to  Panhard's,  learning  to  drive  an  au- 
tomobile. He  told  me  that  he  did  not  want  to  have  to 
hang  about  in  Paris,  while  his  master  was  on  the  high 
roads.  An  innate  taste  for  machinery  had  made  his  ap- 
prenticeship an  easy  one,  and  he  had  obtained  his  cer- 
tificate. I  completed  his  delight  by  asking  him  to  call 
at  the  hotel  for  me  on  the  way  to  the  station.  In  his 
impatience  he  arrived  half-an-hour  too  soon.  Whilst 
walking  up  and  down  on  the  platform,  I  felt  very  happy 
and  extremely  proud  of  having  some  one  to  expect. 
Pride  is  to  be  found  everywhere.  When  the  train  en- 
tered the  station  I  looked  out  eagerly  for  my  travellers. 
Presently  I  felt  an  arm  round  my  neck,  and  heard  the 
well-remembered  voice  exclaim  — 

"  Thank  you,  god-mother.  It  was  just  you  that  I 
wanted  to  see." 

Alas,  no,  it  was  not,  poor  boy !  Uncle  Georges  gave 
me  one  of  those  hearty  handshakes  in  which  he  manages 
to  put  an  infinite  number  of  pleasant  things.  My  god- 
son was  glad  to  find  his  automobile  there,  and  still  more 
glad  to  see  it  driven  by  Louis. 


PARIS  281 

"You  were  jealous  of  my  chauffeur,  were  you?  "  he 
said,  smiling. 

"  Perhaps  I  was,  Monsieur  Guy,"  answered  the  good 
fellow,  colouring  at  being  found  out. 

"  You  animal !  " 

The  tone  in  which  this  epithet  was  uttered  converted 
it  into  a  friendly  expression. 

I  dined  at  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau,  unnecessary  to  say, 
and  we  talked  until  very  late.  This  unburdening  of 
mind  and  heart,  which  absence  prepares,  is  good.  Guy 
has  come  back  to  me  in  perfect  health,  but  he  has 
changed  in  the  most  extraordinary  way.  The  fine  bloom 
of  youth  which  he  had  retained  has  disappeared.  His 
face  has  aged  ten  years;  he  is  thinner,  and  that  makes 
him  look  taller.  His  features  have  received  a  sort  of 
final  chiselling  which  has  refined  them  and  made  them 
more  decided.  His  mouth  has  become  obstinate  and 
hard.  He  rarely  finishes  his  smile.  His  voice  has  ac- 
quired some  fine,  deep  notes.  There  is  more  relief,  more 
character  about  his  whole  person.  And  Nature  has  ac- 
complished all  this  work  by  means  of  that  invisible  agent 
called  Sorrow.  The  changes  that  he  has  undergone 
have  accentuated  still  more  his  resemblance  to  my  hus- 
band. Every  instant  it  gives  me  an  inward  shock. 

I  am  doing  my  best  to  soften  the  bitterness  of  his  dis- 
appointment. I  endeavour  to  make  him  understand,  as 
Madame  de  Mauriones  asked  me  to  do,  the  inevitable 
force  of  certain  currents  of  Life.  The  conversation  I 
had  overheard  allowed  me  to  treat  his  soul  with  a  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  the  case.  I  insisted  on  his  returning 
to  Grignon ;  I  make  him  work.  He  clings  to  me  like  a 
child.  He  comes  to  dinner  nearly  every  evening  at  the 
Hotel  Castiglione.  On  Sunday  he  takes  me  for  a  long 
carriage  or  automobile  drive,  then  we  go  to  his  rooms 
for  tea.  Yesterday,  almost  as  soon  as  I  was  there,  he 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

showed  me  two  small  portraits  framed  together:  that  of 
Monsieur  de  Myeres  and  mine. 

I  felt  myself  colouring  violently. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  photograph?  "  I  stammered. 

"  I  had  it  from  Uncle  Georges,  but  not  without  dif- 
ficulty, and  on  condition  that  I  would  have  it  repro- 
duced." 

It  was  a  portrait  of  me  at  thirty-eight,  with  very  thick 
brown  hair  coiled  on  the  top  of  my  head,  as  it  is  worn 
to-day,  my  eyes  full  of  happiness,  a  triumphant  smile, 
a  face  without  wrinkles,  the  pure  oval  still  there.  This 
photograph,  which  I  remembered  well,  only  reproduces 
my  bust;  the  low,  draped  bodice,  made  by  Worth,  has 
the  beautiful  classic  lines  of  which  he  possesses  the  art, 
and  which  are  safe  from  the  caprices  of  fashion. 
Thanks  to  that,  I  do  not  look  like  an  antiquated  being. 
Would  any  one  believe  it?  In  spite  of  the  tumult  of 
awakened  memories,  I  noticed  this  and  rejoiced. 

"  What  fancy  took  you  ?  "  I  said  to  Guy,  overcoming 
my  emotion. 

"  God-father  looked  so  lonely.  I  put  you  together 
there  as  you  are  in  my  affection ;  wasn't  that  right  ?  " 
asked  the  young  man,  looking  at  me  fixedly. 

"  Quite  right,"  I  answered  firmly. 

He  took  the  photographs  which  I  was  holding  out  to 
him  and  kissed  my  hand.  He  has  united  us  again  —  he, 
of  all  people!  Oh,  the  great,  sweet,  cruel  irony  of  it! 

Paris. 

The  Chateau  of  Chavigny  became  the  property  of  my 
little  friend  Josee  yesterday.  Jean  Noel  would  be 
tempted  to  put  an  immense  note  of  admiration  there ! 
When,  this  evening  after  dinner,  I  told  Guy  the  news, 
he  sprang  up  from  his  arm-chair  and  changed  colour. 

"  Chavigny  was  to  be  sold  and  you  never  told  me, 


PARIS  283 

god-mother !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  an  accent  of  pain  and 
reproach. 

I  then  told  him  the  strange  way  in  which  the  fact 
had  come  to  my  knowledge.  He  paced  up  and  down 
the  room  in  increasing  agitation. 

"  Chavigny  to  be  sold !  If  only  I  had  known !  Why, 
I  should  have  bought  it !  " 

"  What  for? "  I  asked,  obeying  an  unaccountable 
perverseness. 

The  young  man  stopped  in  front  of  me  and  looked 
at  me  with  an  expression  which  disturbed  my  equanimity. 

"  How  can  you  ask  what  for,  god-mother?  "  he  said. 
"  So  that  it  should  not  fall  into  the  hands  of  strangers." 

"  Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  Do  I  remember  it !  Why,  I  was  nine  years  old  when 
I  was  taken  there  for  the  last  time,  and  god-father  let 
me  have  my  first  shot  in  the  wood  which  skirts  the  river." 

Instantaneously,  these  words  created  in  my  mind  the 
image  of  my  husband  with  this  handsome  lad,  who  was 
really  his  son.  My  throat  was  parched  with  emotion. 

"  Ah,  you  never  told  me !  " 

"  No,  it  was  to  be  a  great  secret  between  us  two," 
replied  the  young  man,  with  a  smile.  "  Four  years  ago, 
when  on  a  visit  in  the  Department  of  the  Cher,  I  wanted 
to  see  the  chateau  again.  I  went  roaming  round  it  like 
a  thief.  It  looked  desolate,  badly  kept.  It  was  easy  to 
guess  that  those  who  lived  in  it  were  only  intruders,  and 
I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  buy  it  back  if  it  ever  came 
into  the  market." 

"  But  I  cannot  imagine  you  there,  all  alone  —  perhaps 
you  were  thinking  of  marrying?  " 

Guy,  who  was  smoking  furiously,  took  his  cigarette 
from  his  lips  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  I,  thinking  of  marrying!  Heaven  forbid!  I  would 
give  up  my  share  of  Paradise  if  I  had  to  acquire  it  by 


284  ON  THE  BRANCH 

running  such  a  risk.  You  would  have  come  to  live  at 
Chavigny  with  me.  That  would  have  torn  you  away 
from  your  hotel  life.  In  the  neighbourhood  there  are 
acres  and  acres  of  land  to  be  worked.  I  should  have 
succeeded  in  making  a  splendid  estate  of  it.  What  a 
fine  dream  it  was,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  A  childish  dream,  my  boy.  Nothing  would  have 
induced  me  to  receive  hospitality  in  a  house  in  which, 
for  so  long  a  time,  I  had  dispensed  it.  Then,  too,  what 
is  the  use  of  discussing  it?  Providence  has  disposed 
of  it  in  another  way." 

"  Providence !  Well,  then,  I  don't  thank  Providence. 
It  might  have  remembered  my  existence  and  my  rights." 

"  Your  rights  ?  "  I  repeated,  startled. 

Guy  coloured. 

"  Well,  yes,  that's  a  way  of  speaking.  Since  your 
sister-in-law  died  without  children,  there  is  no  one  else 
belonging  to  the  family.  So  that  Chavigny  ought  to 
have  come  to  me  in  my  quality  of  god-son  and  second 
cousin  by  marriage.  I  am  sure  that  god-father  would 
have  wished  it.  He  was  very  fond  of  me;  very  fond 
of  me,  you  know." 

"  I  know  —  I  know,"  I  answered  brusquely. 

"  I  say,  god-mother,"  the  young  man  began  again, 
after  a  moment's  silence,  "  is  there  no  way  of  getting 
Monsieur  de  Lusson  to  let  me  take  over  his  purchase? 
Suppose  you  were  to  ask  him  ?  " 

"  Impossible.  All  the  more  so  as  it  is  a  very  good 
piece  of  business.  Even  if  he  were  inclined  to  consent, 
his  daughter  would  object.  She  is  in  love  with  Cha- 
vigny, and  would  not  let  her  parents  rest  in  peace  until 
they  had  put  her  dowry  into  it.  For  my  part,  I  am 
glad  that  it  has  fallen  into  hands  like  hers.  She  will 
appreciate  it,  and  will  know  how  to  give  it  back  its 
former  beauty." 


PARIS  285 

"  She  may  marry  some  idiot  who  will  not  trouble  him- 
self about  it." 

"  I  am  quite  easy  about  that ;  she  will  never  marry  an 
idiot." 

"  She  likes  the  country  ?  " 

"Very  much." 

"  A  phenomenon  then  ?  "  said  Guy,  in  an  ironical  tone. 

"  No,  but  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  has  Irish  and  Eng- 
lish blood  in  her  veins.  Hence  her  need  of  physical 
activity  and  fresh  air.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that  Sir 
William  Randolph,  a  foreigner,  should  have  introduced 
to  me  the  future  mistress  of  Chavigny  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  less  wonderful,  but  more  just,  if  I  had 
become  the  master  of  it,"  said  the  young  man,  with  an 
irritation  which  I  felt  was  caused  by  disappointment.  "  A 
girl  who  makes  her  people  buy  her  a  chateau!  Did  any 
one  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  ?  "  he  added  between  his 
teeth. 

Race !  That  profound  and  sacred  thing,  that  soul  of 
the  soul,  I  saw  it  in  him.  It  was  that  which  was  suf- 
fering just  now  in  my  husband's  son,  it  was  that  which 
protested,  which  claimed  the  ancestral  home !  The  grief 
which  Guy  had  just  felt  may  be  able  to  put  him  on 
the  road  to  happiness.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  will 
think  of  the  mistress  of  Chavigny,  with  irritation,  per- 
haps, but  he  will  think  of  her.  It  is  impossible  that  she 
should  not  inspire  him  with  some  curiosity.  Before  his 
departure,  he  left  a  card  at  the  Lussons'  in  order  to  thank 
them  for  having  asked  after  him  when  he  was  ill.  I  am 
too  intimate  with  them  now  to  be  able  to  delay  introduc- 
ing him  to  them.  When  I  happen  to  mention  "  my  god- 
son," and  I  do  it  often  unintentionally,  I  feel  that  Josee 
is  listening,  and  I  have  an  intuition  that  my  words  hit 
their  mark.  Is  it  an  illusion?  Very  much  depends  on 
the  first  meeting.  If  the  gods  intend  me  to  arrange  this 


286  ON  THE  BRANCH 

marriage,  they  will  suggest  to  me  the  propitious  hour 
and  minute. 

Paris. 

Another  tomb  on  my  road!  There  were  already  so 
many !  Sir  William  Randolph  is  no  more.  I  feel  from 
here  the  grief  of  his  family,  even  of  Freddy;  the  void 
caused  by  his  absence  in  that  home  which  he  filled  so  com- 
pletely. I  feel,  above  all,  that  I  have  lost  some  one. 
How  could  two  brief  meetings  have  united  us  so  closely? 
Did  we  not  already  know  each  other  when  he  came  to  me 
on  the  verandah  of  the  Hotel  Riche  last  year,  with  a 
friendly  glance,  a  jesting  word  on  his  lips?  Do  we 
know,  ah,  do  we  know?  The  day  before  he  died,  he 
went  for  a  walk  in  the  park,  and  passed  the  evening  in 
the  observatory  in  the  company  of  his  son.  His  night 
was  painful  and  sleepless.  He  did  not  get  up  at  the 
usual  hour,  but  he  felt  tired!  Ah,  God,  how  tired  he 
must  have  been!  As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Lady 
Randolph  went  up-stairs  again  to  him.  His  body  was 
there,  his  eyes  closed,  he  was  motionless,  still  warm,  but 
the  soul  had  gone,  gone  without  a  sound,  without  a  fare- 
well, like  a  being  who  had  escaped.  This  morning  the 
English  post  brought  me  a  letter  from  the  dead  man, 
his  living  thought,  and  that  thought  I  transcribe  here  — 

"  Just  a  word  to  say  good-bye,  whilst  the  wick  is  still 
smoking.  Oh,  it  is  really  smoking !  When  this  reaches 
you,  Freddy's  master  will  no  longer  be  in  this  world. 
The  world  will  not  notice  this,  but  at  two  imperceptible 
points  of  the  globe,  at  Simley  and  in  a  certain  Parisian 
hotel,  he  will  be  regretted  a  little,  he  will  be  thought  of 
with  affection.  This  idea  is  not  disagreeable.  My 
sufferings  have  become  such  that  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  leave 
this  broken  body,  which  no  longer  breathes  and  can  no 


PARIS  287 

longer  speak.  It  has  the  effect  on  me  of  a  loathsome 
rag,  and  at  times  I  am  tempted  to  kick  it  away.  Death 
is  much  more  terrible  from  afar  than  near.  No  doubt 
Nature  always  prepares  us  for  it.  I  wanted  to  assure 
you  of  this  in  exchange  for  what  you  have  brought  me. 
Your  rational  faith,  enlightened  by  the  little  science  we 
possess,  has  strengthened  my  blind  and  frequently  waver- 
ing faith.  I  do  not  mind  confessing  it.  And  this  help 
was  to  come  to  me  from  a  Frenchwoman,  from  a  bridge- 
player.  It  is  enough  to  excite  the  humouristic  spirit 
of  a  Britisher,  even,  when  dying  —  this  is  my  last  jest. 
Accept  it  graciously,  as  you  did  all  the  others.  I 
should  like  you  to  come  every  year  to  rest  for  a  time  at 
Simley.  I  give  you  a  formal  invitation.  All  my  fam- 
ily, great  and  small,  will  be  happy  to  have  you.  Claude 
will  take  my  place  at  the  observatory.  When  you  are 
there,  do  ask  Freddy  where  his  master  is ;  I  wager  that  he 
will  lift  his  head  towards  that  sky  which  he  has  seen  me 
exploring  so  long.  The  soul  of  a  dog  is  not  as  obscure 
as  it  is  believed  to  be. 

"  The  fable  of  Pandora,  which  shows  us  Hope  at  the 
bottom  of  the  famous  box  —  the  human  brain,  no  doubt, 
—  was  certainly  a  divine  inspiration.  The  hope  of  im- 
mortality, and  of  meeting  every  one  again,  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  hope  of  cure,  it  increases  the  nearer  I  ap- 
proach the  bar,  and,  thanks  to  this,  I  shall  cross  it  with- 
out fear,  if  not  without  regret. 

"  I  send  an  affectionate  message  to  the  Lussons, 
and  good  wishes  to  our  friend  Josee.  What  you  have 
just  written  concerning  the  purchase  of  your  old  home 
amazed  me.  Evidently  a  little  role  was  destined  for  me 
in  your  life  here  below.  I  hope  to  have  a  larger  one 
elsewhere. 

"  Now  I  am  waiting  for  my  call ;  it  cannot  be  long 
delayed.  Whether  it  should  come  with  the  morning  star 


288  ON  THE  BRANCH 

or  with  the  evening  star,  at  midday  or  at  midnight,  I 
am  ready  !     God  bless  you !  " 

How  many  things  I  felt  and  divined  between  these 
brave  lines. 

The  Lussons  felt  deep  regret  at  the  death  of  Sir 
William.  We  shall  often  talk  of  him.  I  gave  them 
his  letter  to  them,  and  Josee  read  it  with  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"  After  all,  father,"  she  said,  folding  it  again  rever- 
ently, "  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  faith." 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  coloured  slightly,  and  turned 
away  his  head. 

Paris. 

Well,  Guy's  introduction  to  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson 
is  an  accomplished  fact,  and  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Jean  Noel  could  never  have  imagined  such  a  pretty  scene 
for  a  first  meeting.  He  must  now  content  himself  with 
reproducing  it.  Yesterday,  after  luncheon,  I  was  called 
to  the  telephone  by  Josee.  She  asked  me  whether  I 
should  like  to  go  to  a  lecture  at  the  People's  University 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  Upon  my  reply  in  the 
affirmative,  she  said  that  her  father  and  she  would  call 
for  me  that  evening  at  eight  o'clock.  They  came,  and  on 
the  way  Monsieur  de  Lusson  told  me  that  he  went  there 
twice  a  week  to  give  lessons  in  chess.  That  is  his  part 
of  the  co-operation.  We  got  out  of  the  carriage  in  front 
of  a  very  gloomy  house,  and,  after  going  along  an  alley 
and  across  a  courtyard,  we  penetrated  into  a  sort  of  hall, 
at  the  entrance  of  which  was  a  plaster  statue,  the  repro- 
duction of  an  antique.  A  few  gentlemen  were  talking 
with  some  workmen.  Monsieur  de  Lusson  went  into  the 
room  reserved  for  the  noble  game.  Josee  showed  me  the 
library.  The  long  table  was  occupied  by  readers,  men 


PARIS  289 

and  women,  who  were  so  much  absorbed  that  they  did  not 
look  at  us.  Among  them  I  noticed  a  young  girl,  simply 
dressed,  but  evidently  a  lady.  She  was  accompanied  by 
an  elderly  maid.  On  our  entrance  she  rose  and  came  to- 
wards us,  smiling.  I  guessed  that  it  was  Jocelyne  Mont- 
fort.  As  soon  as  we  were  outside,  Mademoiselle  de  Lus- 
son  introduced  her  to  me. 

She  is  a  brunette,  and  her  pretty  face,  with  its  dull, 
white  complexion,  its  intelligent  eyes  and  kind  mouth, 
charmed  me.  I  held  out  my  hand  to  her  and  clasped  hers 
affectionately.  We  entered  the  meeting-hall  together. 
It  was  nearly  full.  The  public  was  composed  of  work- 
ing men  and  women,  of  women  without  hats  who  looked 
as  though  they  had  come  in  as  neighbours,  and  of  poor 
artists.  We  slipped  into  the  last  row.  All  around  on 
the  walls  I  saw,  with  pleasure,  pictures,  beautiful  pho- 
tographs, maps ;  the  lecturer,  a  congenial  young  student, 
took  his  place  on  the  platform.  To  his  right,  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  I  suddenly  saw,  to  my  great  surprise,  Guy 
in  person,  Guy  manipulating  the  lantern  slides !  His 
presence  there  certainly  was  the  most  unexpected  of 
things.  He  had  never  spoken  to  me  of  the  People's 
University  or  of  any  work  of  the  kind.  More  than  once 
I  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  necessity  of  helping  the 
weak,  of  entering  into  the  struggle  for  the  amelioration 
and  progress  of  humanity.  He  had  always  contented 
himself  with  answering,  "  You  are  right."  Had  my 
words  carried  ?  Was  he  trying  to  forget  his  disappoint- 
ment by  occupying  himself  with  others?  In  this  case 
Madame  de  Mauriones'  treachery  will  have  produced 
some  good.  I  turned  towards  Josee. 

"  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  is  over  there,  by  the  screen !  " 
I  said  to  her. 

The  darkness  of  the  room  prevented  my  seeing  the 
expression  of  her  face,  but  I  felt  magnetically  the  shock 


290  ON  THE  BRANCH 

that  my  words  caused  her.  I  am  persuaded  that  my 
god-son  quite  eclipsed  the  lecturer  for  her.  As  for  me, 
I  was  soon  captivated  by  the  subject  he  treated,  "  Egypt- 
ian art  and  the  Egyptian  people."  I  wondered  at 
first  how  that  could  interest  people  who  only  had  the  most 
elementary  education.  Well,  yes,  Egyptian  art  and  the 
Egyptian  people  did  interest  these  humble  ones.  They 
listened  as  I  had  never  seen  people  listen ;  they  were  all 
eyes  and  ears !  Preceding  lectures  must  have  made  them 
able  to  comprehend,  for  they  seemed  to  follow  the  young 
savant  perfectly.  As  I  saw,  appearing  on  the  white 
sheet,  projections  of  gigantic  temples,  pieces  of  frescoes, 
of  gods,  of  ancient  symbols,  I  realised  that  these  were 
fragments  of  the  great  accumulators  left  by  the  Egypt- 
ians. By  means  of  photography,  which  has  become  one 
of  Nature's  vehicles  and  agents,  these  images,  forms 
and  lines  have  arrived  across  the  centuries,  from  the 
banks  of  the  Nile  to  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  to  stamp 
themselves  again  on  the  brains  of  these  Parisian  workmen, 
in  order  to  scatter  there  the  germs  of  other  works  of  art, 
no  doubt.  How  divine  it  is,  this  work!  That  history 
lesson,  so  clear  and  so  well  composed,  caused  me  real 
pleasure.  I  was  delighted  to  see  the  lecturer  awaken  in- 
terest in  these  predecessors  and  gratitude  to  them,  by 
showing  us  the  close  bonds  which  unite  us,  by  enumera- 
ting the  inherited  forces  and  light  which  come  to  us  from 
them.  Retrospective  fraternity  is  a  step  towards  fu- 
ture fraternity. 

When  the  lecture  was  over  we  went  to  wait  for  Mon- 
sieur de  Lusson  in  the  hall.  I  looked  anxiously  towards 
the  door,  wishing,  yet  fearing,  to  see  Guy  appear,  won- 
dering whether  the  time  for  the  introduction  had  come? 
As  I  was  asking  myself  that  question  he  arrived  in  com- 
pany with  the  lecturer  and  stopped  to  exchange  a  few 
words  with  a  group  of  workmen.  Just  at  the  moment 


PARIS  291 

when  the  father  of  my  little  friend  joined  us,  he  turned 
round,  caught  sight  of  me,  and  came  at  once  to  me. 

"  God-mother!  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  stopped  short,  embarrassed  by  his  own  indiscre- 
tion. In  his  surprise  he  had  not  noticed  that  I  was  not 
alone. 

I  could  not  hesitate  any  longer,  and  I  introduced  my 
god-son.  Monsieur  de  Lusson  held  out  his  hand  to  him 
and  put  him  at  his  ease  with  a  few  pleasant  words.  In 
this  genial  atmosphere,  where  there  was  co-operation  of 
ideas,  we  chatted  very  agreeably  for  a  few  minutes. 
What  I  had  foreseen  happened.  Guy  looked  at  the  mis- 
tress of  Chavigny,  and  Josee  looked  at  the  god-son  of 
Madame  de  Myeres.  They  were  both  curious,  to  my 
great  satisfaction.  The  light  fell  full  on  the  two  faces, 
and,  good  or  bad,  the  impression  must  have  been  very 
distinct. 

I  returned  home  rather  disconcerted,  like  a  chauffeur 
who  has  seen  the  guiding-wheel  which  he  held  taken  out 
of  his  hands.  To-day  I  have  felt  upset  and  nervous.  I 
was  sure  that  Guy  would  want  to  talk  about  last  evening. 
I  was  right.  He  "  brought  himself  here,"  as  people 
now  say.  The  funniest  part  is  that  he  thought  it  his 
duty  to  make  an  excuse  for  coming. 

"  The  attraction  of  your  society,  god-mother,  and  the 
cuisine  of  the  Hotel  de  Castiglione  make  me  intrusive," 
he  said.  "  You  will  be  asking  me  one  of  these  days  to 
take  my  meals  elsewhere  a  little  more  often !  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  To-day,  besides  the  good  dinner,  jjou 
came  in  search  of  compliments,  did  you  not?  " 

Guy  coloured. 

"  Jean  Noel,  you  are  terrible,"  he  said,  good-hu- 
mouredly. 

"  I  will  not  be  niggardly  with  them.  Your  presence 
at  the  People's  University  gave  me  great  pleasure.  To 


292  ON  THE  BRANCH 

work  for  others  is  a  manly  way  of  getting  away  from 
one's  own  sorrow.  I  hope  that  you  will,  in  your  turn, 
give  some  lectures." 

"  Next  winter,  yes." 

"  I  was  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity  of  intro- 
ducing you  to  Monsieur  de  Lusson.  What  did  you  think 
of  him?" 

"  I  found  him  very  congenial." 

"  You  owe  a  visit  to  his  wife  now.  I  shall  take  you 
to  the  Rue  de  Lille  one  of  these  days." 

"  Very  well,  when  you  like,"  my  godson  replied,  with 
surprising  docility. 

"  By  the  bye,  what  were  those  girls  doing  there?  " 
he  continued,  as  though  the  question  had  not  been  all  the 
time  on  his  lips. 

"  Why,  they  are  members  of  the  Association ;  they 
are  interested  in  its  development,  and  look  after  the 
library ;  they  have  attended  the  lectures  all  the  winter." 

"  Rather  blue,  are  they?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Do  you  know  that  Mademoiselle  Mont- 
fort  has  a  family  of  twelve  children,  whom  she  brings  up 
at  her  own  expense?  " 

"  Indeed !  And  the  mistress  of  Chavigny,  how  many 
has  she?  "  asked  Guy,  in  a  more  mocking  tone. 

"  Four,"  I  replied,  tranquilly. 

"  It's  a  new  fashion  then?  A  trick  for  getting  eman- 
cipated, perhaps." 

"  There,  that's  how  you  are,  you  men,"  I  said,  indig- 
nantly. "  You  complain  of  the  frivolity  of  girls,  and 
then,  when  one  of  them  is  trying  to  employ  her  affec- 
tion and  her  intellect  creditably,  you  are  at  once  dis- 
trustful. You  want  to  continue  having  them  kept  on  a 
skewer  just  ready  for  you.  It  is  not  purity  you  ask  for, 
but  merely  ignorance  of  the  one  thing  which  you  your- 
selves wish  to  reveal  to  them,  and  in  the  fear  of  depriving 


PARIS  293 

yourself  of  this  doubtful  pleasure,  in  order  to  satisfy 
this  barbarous  requirement  of  yours,  girls  are  to  be  held 
in,  they  are  not  to  be  allowed  to  mix  in  social  life. 
The  fresh  forces  of  which  humanity  has  need  are  to  be 
immobilised.  Later  on,  if  their  husband  ceases  to  please 
them,  they  will  ask  ^vers  for  the  only  happiness  they 
have  been  taught  to  Know.  You  get  exactly  the  wives 
you  deserve." 

"  God-mother,  are  you  going  in  for  feminism?  "  asked 
Guy,  smiling. 

"  Not  the  feminism  that  preaches  hatred  of  the  strong 
sex,  but  that  which  claims  for  women  participation  in  the 
affairs  of  this  world.  No  one  has  a  greater  admiration 
than  I  for  man,  as  regards  brain.  When  I  see  him 
driving  in  the  piles  of  a  bridge,  boring  through  moun- 
tains, extorting  Nature's  secrets,  one  by  one,  I  feel  very 
small.  The  heaviness  of  his  burden,  even,  inspires  me 
with  maternal  pity.  But  I  also  see  that  he  cannot  suffice 
for  everything.  If  woman  is  necessary  to  complete  his 
life,  she  is  also  necessary  to  complete  his  work.  She 
is  capable  of  helping  him  in  fighting  against  tubercu- 
losis, alcoholism,  of  aiding  him  to  create  salubrious 
dwellings,  where  the  little  ones  can  grow  up  comfortably. 
Under  the  government  of  man  alone  there  are  too  many 
people  cold  and  hungry,  there  is  too  much  vice  also,  too 
much  moral  uncleanliness.  In  our  country,  public  char- 
ity is  organised  in  such  a  way  that  out  of  five  francs 
only  two  reach  the  poor  —  two,  do  you  understand  ? 
The  hospitals  are  a  disgrace  to  France.  It  is  time  — 
high  time  —  that  woman  should  intervene  in  the  things 
that  are  within  her  competence,  for  she  is  the  mother, 
after  all.  She  alone  ought  to  be  charged  with  helping 
the  wounded  on  Life's  battlefield.  She  alone  ought 
to  hold  the  purse  for  the  poor.  Am  I  unreasonable?  " 

"No." 


294  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  boy,"  I  continued,  "  all  that 
requires  an  apprenticeship.  This  apprenticeship  ought 
to  be  the  complement  of  the  young  girl's  education.  We 
shall  arrive  at  that  in  time.  Nature  has  made  use  of  the 
Saxon  woman  for  opening  the  way,  for  clearing  the 
ground;  she  now  has  need  of  the  warmth  of  soul,  the 
idealism,  the  femininity  even  of  the  Latin  and  Slavonic 
woman.  She  will  not  delay  putting  these  fine  forces 
into  action.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  initial  move- 
ment has  been  given.  In  Paris  we  are  beginning  to  meet 
young  girls  in  the  dispensaries,  in  the  creches." 

"  And  in  the  People's  Universities,"  added  Guy,  mock- 
ingly. 

"  And  in  the  People's  Universities,  as  you  saw,"  I 
replied  coldly. 

"  It  is  somewhat  disquieting." 

"  Reserve  your  disquietude  for  other  girls  than  Made- 
moiselle Montfort  and  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson.  The 
former  is  over  twenty -five  years  of  age;  she  has  never 
made  bad  use  of  the  liberty  she  has  conquered.  The 
latter  is  as  good  as  the  day." 

"  God-mother,  I  shall  get  seriously  jealous  of  this 
young  person.  You  are  bewitched  by  her.  She  has 
already  supplanted  me  at  Chavigny;  I  won't  have  her 
supplanting  me  with  you." 

This,  said  in  a  joking  tone,  ended  our  discussion. 
I  refrained  from  asking  him  what  he  thought  of  Josee. 
If  she  had  been  uncongenial  to  him,  he  would  not  have 
failed  to  tell  me.  His  silence  reassures  me  on  this  point. 

Paris. 

The  Lussons  have  given  the  signal  for  the  break- 
up. They  are  the  first  to  leave  Paris.  Our  friendship 
has  been  so  much  closer  these  last  months  that  their 
absence  makes  a  great  void  for  me.  We  are  to  meet 


PARIS  295 

again  at  Aix-les-Bains.  After  our  stay  there,  for  the 
waters,  we  are  to  travel  together  to  Touraine.  I  shall 
first  go  to  Vouvray  to  visit  some  friends,  and  then  to  Rou- 
ziers.  That  is  the  programme  of  our  holidays.  Guy  is 
to  spend  some  time  at  "  Les  Rocheilles,"  and  then  join  me 
with  his  automobile.  We  have  made  some  fine  plans  for 
excursions  in  Savoy  and  Switzerland.  I  am  now  quite 
accustomed  to  modern  locomotion.  At  first,  I  was  wildly 
afraid,  afraid  of  the  turns  in  the  road,  afraid  of  run- 
ning over  children  or  animals.  I  did  not  allow  this  to  be 
seen,  so  that  my  companion's  pleasure  should  not  be 
spoilt,  and  still  more  because  of  my  vanity  as  an  old 
woman.  At  present  I  understand  the  automobile,  and  I 
love  it  like  something  living.  This  blind  force,  of  which 
the  chauffeur  becomes  the  soul,  does  not  cease  to  amaze 
me.  I  know  when  I  may  talk  to  my  steersman  and  when 
I  ought  to  be  quiet.  This  has  frequently  won 
compliments  for  me.  We  are  now  exploring  the 
environs  of  Paris.  There  are  a  number  of  places  that 
I  wanted  to  see  again:  Chantilly,  Enghien,  Malmaison, 
Fontainebleau.  The  forest  is  very  dear  to  me.  Some 
ten  years  ago,  during  a  rather  long  stay  at  the 
Hotel  Ville  of  Lyon,  I  walked  through  it  in  all  direc- 
tions. It  consoled  me  in  a  mysterious  manner.  I  al- 
ways felt  better  after  I  had  been  there.  The  remem- 
brance of  my  isolation,  then,  makes  the  pleasure  more  in- 
tense which  I  feel  at  being  cared  for  and  protected  once 
more.  Is  it  the  father  or  the  son  who  is  taking  me 
about  with  him?  At  times  I  do  not  know,  and  I  am 
thoroughly  happy.  I  am  afraid,  though,  of  suddenly 
waking  up  and  finding  myself  alone,  as  before,  in  the 
middle  of  one  of  the  crossroads. 

In  spite  of  this  I  keep  begging  Guy  to  leave  Paris. 
The  stay  here  is  not  good  for  him,  as  too  many  things 
must  remind  him  of  what  he  ought  to  forget.  His 


296  ON  THE  BRANCH 

expression  is  always  strained  and  serious.  It  really 
only  brightens  up  for  me.  When  we  are  going  through 
the  Bois,  I  am  always  expecting,  at  the  turn  of  one  of 
the  avenues,  to  come  face  to  face  with  Madame  de  Mau- 
riones,  and  I  cannot  help  wishing  for  this.  Does  he  still 
love  her,  or  is  he  only  suffering  from  the  insult  that 
she  offered  him?  That  is  what  interests  Jean  Noel. 
He  would  not  be  sorry  to  see  them  again  in  presence  of 
each  other.  How  pitiless  a  novelist's  inquisitiveness  is! 

Paris. 

Jean  Noel  has  had  his  wish,  and,  as  usual,  in  an 
unexpected  way.  Guy  came  to  fetch  me  this  afternoon  at 
half-past  four  for  our  last  drive,  as  he  leaves  to-morrow. 

"  It  is  rather  warm  still,"  I  said ;  "  let  us  go  and  have 
tea  at  the  Ritz." 

"  All  right,  god-mother,"  he  answered ;  "  I  have  not 
set  foot  inside  there  this  year." 

Upon  which  he  turned  his  automobile  towards  the 
Place  Vendome. 

The  garden  of  the  Ritz  Hotel  has  a  look  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  which  harmonises  well  with  the  light 
dresses  of  the  women.  This  green  nook  situated  between 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  the  Rue  de  Castiglione,  is  delight- 
ful. When  I  am  alone  I  go  there  very  early.  It  is 
quite  silent  then,  and  full  of  birds.  Gradually  the  tea- 
drinkers  arrive,  form  themselves  into  groups,  and  then 
curious  human  cackling  begins,  and  gets  louder  and 
louder.  I  have  learnt  to  listen  to  it.  It  is  very  ugly, 
and  I  am  amazed  to  think  that  it  can  express  so  many 
things.  There  were  a  great  many  people  there  when 
we  arrived.  My  usual  table  was  free.  We  sat  down, 
and  I  ordered  tea.  As  the  waiter  moved  away,  I  sud- 
denly saw  Madame  de  Mauriones  behind  where  he  had 
been  standing.  She  was  seated  almost  facing  us,  under 


PARIS  297 

one  of  the  large  parasols  in  the  garden,  in  company 
with  three  other  young  women,  the  Marchioness  d'A — , 
and  Countess  C — .  At  the  same  moment  I  saw  her  eyes 
and  those  of  Guy  meet  like  two  swords.  A  slight  pallor 
passed  over  my  god-son's  face,  his  nostrils  dilated,  and 
his  mouth  became  rigid.  The  Marquise  gave  a  sudden 
start,  and  shrank  back  like  a  creature  who  had  been 
struck.  Her  eyelids  fell  as  though  under  an  invisible 
pressure.  One  of  those  shocks  to  the  soul  had  occurred, 
which  reveal  the  real  sentiments  of  individuals.  I  com- 
prehended that  with  Guy  there  was  nothing  left  but  the 
anger  of  the  male  who  has  been  deceived,  whilst  with  Ma- 
dame de  Mauriones  love  was  still  there. 

Our  tea  was  brought,  and  I  poured  a  cup  for  my  com- 
panion. As  he  stirred  it  his  hand  shook  slightly,  but 
his  face  was  impassive. 

"  A  pretty  sight !  "  he  said,  looking  round  the  room. 

"  A  twentieth  century  tea,"  I  said.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing imposing  about  it,  but  it  is  brilliant,  and  there  are 
plenty  of  beauties." 

"  Of  deceptions ! "  he  remarked.  "  Dyed  hair  and 
painted  lips.  Just  look  round,  you  who  are  a  physiog- 
nomist, and  tell  me  whether  you  discover  one  woman,  one 
single  woman,"  he  repeated,  maliciously,  "  who  looks 
capable  of  any  deep  sentiment  at  all." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  the  presence  of  a  few  grandes 
amoureuses  is  necessary  to  complete  the  picture  of  this 
afternoon  tea.  Providence  does  not  lavish  its  treasures 
like  that!" 

Guy  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  god-mother,  what  a  way  of  looking  at  life !  " 

"  It  is  the  right  way,  my  dear  boy,"  I  answered,  seri- 
ously. "  And  it  is  a  crime  to  try  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
Nature  and  with  humanity  in  such  perfect  weather." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  say  with  Candide  that  '  all  is  for 


298  ON  THE  BRANCH 

the  best  in  the  best  of  worlds,'  "  said  the  young  man 
ironically. 

I  turned  the  conversation  on  to  the  subject  of  "  Les 
Rocheilles,"  and  then  spoke  of  his  brother,  and  his  irrita- 
tion gradually  calmed  down.  I  could  not  help  glancing 
at  Madame  de  Mauriones.  She  was  adorable  in  a  del- 
icate-looking dress  of  pale  mauve,  and  under  a  hat 
trimmed  with  large  anemones  of  the  same  tone  of  colour. 
She  was  chattering  gaily,  but  two  pink  spots  were  burn- 
ing her  cheek-bones.  Our  eyes  met  several  times.  Mine 
were  full  of  the  maternal  pity  with  which  she  inspires 
me.  She  understood,  and  thanked  me  with  her  slow 
smile.  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  away. 

"  If  you  have  finished  tea,  Guy,  let  us  start,  shall 
we?  "  I  said. 

"  There's  no  hurry,  god-mother,"  he  replied.  "  It's 
quite  nice  here,  a  regular  Paradise !  " 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  I  understood  that  he  did 
not  want  to  be  the  first  to  move  away.  The  light  fell 
full  on  him,  and  his  face,  bronzed  by  the  open  air,  was 
very  manly-looking.  The  contrast  of  the  dark  hair,  the 
dark  blue  eyes  and  the  tawny  moustache,  that  contrast  I 
had  loved  so  much  in  the  old  days,  made  him  cruelly  fas- 
cinating. I  dare  say  he  is  just  as  conscious  of  his  power 
as  any  woman.  I  was  horribly  uncomfortable.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  though  I  were  lending  myself  as  an  accomplice 
for  this  masculine  revenge.  Madame  de  Mauriones'  tea- 
party  came  to  an  end.  She  passed  by  us  as  she  went  out 
with  the  Marchioness  d'A — ,  and  the  pride  of  her  bearing 
was  like  a  challenge.  Guy  watched  her  with  an  expres- 
sion in  which  there  was  a  kind  of  astonishment.  When 
she  had  disappeared  he  rose  and  threw  away  his  cigarette. 

"  I  am  ready  for  your  orders  now,  god-mother." 

"  A  man  who  has  been  wounded  is  certainly  very 
cruel,"  I  said  to  myself. 


VIII 

AIX-LES-BAINS. 

Palace   Hotel,    Aix-les-Bams. 

IT  is  always  with  regret  that  I  leave  my  comfortable 
"  brancK "  in  Paris.  The  Hotel  de  Castiglione  is  not 
commonplace,  and  it  has  nothing  of  the  coldness  which 
usually  characterises  the  ordinary  "  travellers'  house." 
This  is  due  to  its  Franco-Italian  atmosphere.  The 
owner  of  it  is  Italian  and  his  wife  French.  Uncon- 
sciously he  brings  into  his  business  the  qualities  of  his 
race.  He  is 'not  only  the  hotel-keeper,  he  is  the  host. 
Independently  of  all  questions  of  interest,  he  likes  every 
one  to  be  comfortable  under  his  roof,  to  enjoy  the  table 
and  like  the  rooms.  As  soon  as  one  enters  this  hotel  one 
feels  the  desire  that  every  one  connected  with  it  has  to  be 
agreeable,  from  the  hall-porter  and  smart  pages  to  those 
employed  in  the  office,  and  to  the  manager  himself.  In 
the  dining-room  .the  waiters,  who  are  mostly  Italians, 
have  that  innate  courtesy  and  gentleness  which  distin- 
guishes the  people  of  their  country.  The  valets  and 
the  chamber-maids,  who  are  all  French,  like  their  work 
and  the  people  they  wait  upon.  Louis  and  Eugenie,  a 
married  couple  who  look  after  me,  are  not  mere  machines 
for  cleaning  and  sweeping.  They  are  kindly  and  sen- 
sible, they  appreciate  a  pleasant  word  as  much  as  a  grat- 
uity. This  exteriorisation  of  the  Latin  soul  impreg- 
nates the  atmosphere  with  a  something  that  one  never 
meets  with  in  English,  German  or  Swiss  hotels.  The 

299 


300  ON  THE  BRANCH 

intangible  something  is  always  recognised  by  foreigners 
who  have  lived  in  Italy.  It  is,  no  doubt,  a  little  warmth 
which  one  likes,  and  which  one  cannot  help  missing  aft- 
erwards. I  never  regretted  leaving  the  Hotel  de  Castigli- 
one  so  much  before.  At  the  last  moment  I  went  back  to 
the  lift,  ostensibly  to  go  up  to  my  room  and  see  whether 
I  had  forgotten  anything,  but  in  reality  to  say  another 
farewell  to  it.  The  very  walls  seemed  to  want  to  keep 
me  there.  Can  it  be  that  I  shall  never  go  back  there, 
even  to  die.  The  door  of  the  station  omnibus,  which 
took  me  away,  banged  in  a  peculiar  way  which  made  a 
curious  impression  on  me. 

The  hall-porter  accompanied  me  to  the  station.  Last 
year,  when  he  was  seeing  me  off  for  England,  I  said  to 
him,  smiling  — 

"  Some  day,  Henri,  you  will  not  put  me  into  a  train, 
but  into  a  hearse." 

"  May  that  day  be  a  long  way  off,  madame,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  shall  not  be  as  gay  then  as  I  am  now." 

No  society  man  could  have  made  a  better  little  speech. 

The  heat  had  compelled  me  to  take  the  night  train,  but 
at  break  of  day  I  was  looking  at  those  wild,  harmonious 
sites  of  Savoy  which  are  so  fascinating  to  me.  All  man- 
kind was  sleeping,  and  one  could  have  fancied  that  the 
human  race  did  not  yet  exist.  This  impression  is  unique, 
and  the  landscape  appears  so  much  grander  without  man. 
The  Bourget  Lake  made  me  utter  an  exclamation  of  de- 
light. Motionless,  as  though  enchanted,  and  of  an  ex- 
traordinary blue  which  makes  it  look  like  a  sheet  of  elec- 
tricity, I  shuddered  as  I  gazed  at  it,  as  I  might  have  done 
on  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  I  do  not  know  any  lak>- 
more  variable  and  more  strange.  It  has  almost  a  face} 
a  passionate  and  perfidious  face.  Beneath  its  calm  one 
feels  that  there  is  violence,  and  under  the  violence  ont 
feels  its  calm,  and  is  never  weary  of  it.  It  affected  me 


AIX-LES-BAINS  301 

deeply  to  see  Aix-les-Bains  again.  During  the  last  five 
years  of  my  husband's  life  we  had  always  spent  half  of 
July  and  the  whole  of  August  there.  I  had  never  been 
able  to  persuade  myself  to  return  to  it.  Why  should  it 
make  me  suffer  more  than  any  other  place?  I  cannot 
explain  that  to  myself. 

According  to  the  advice  of  the  Lussons,  I  went  to 
the  Palace  Hotel,  one  of  the  best  in  the  town.  The 
room  that  had  been  reserved  made  a  very  good  impression 
on  me.  It  has  everything  necessary  for  one's  comfort. 
One  of  the  windows  looks  on  to  the  valley  and  has  a  beau- 
tiful distant  view  of  mountain-tops;  the  other  looks  on 
to  the  Villa  des  Fleurs.  My  first  walk  was  a  pilgrimage. 
I  wanted  to  see  the  villa  in  which  my  husband  and  I  had 
lived,  a  villa  situated  on  the  heights  a  few  steps  away 
from  the  Splendide.  A  friend  used  to  let  it  to  us  each 
season.  Bitter-sweet  memories  were  stirred  as  I  climbed 
the  hill,  and  when  I  arrived  at  the  house  I  had  neither 
breath  nor  legs.  I  caught  hold  of  the  iron  entrance 
gate,  and  I  gazed  at  the  house  with  all  my  soul.  The 
trees  had  grown  bushy  and  the  wild  vine  covered  it  en- 
tirely. My  eyes  went  straight  to  the  verandah  where 
Guy  and  I  —  the  other  Guy  —  had  spent  delightful 
evenings,  with  the  moon  lighting  up  the  valley  and  the 
Dent  du  Chat,  and  the  music  sounding  like  a  distant  ac- 
companiment to  our  conversation.  Those  evenings  were 
for  my  husband  his  proofs  of  a  gambler's  repentance,  and 
the  repentances  of  gamblers  are  such  that  they  almost 
make  one  wish  for  more  relapses.  Certainly  there  was 
no  longer  anything  of  us  in  that  dwelling,  and  yet,  thanks 
to  a  phenomenon  still  unexplained  and  entirely  subjec- 
tive, it  seemed  to  me  as  though  it  were  surrounded  by  a 
vibrating  atmosphere.  There  was  a  magnetic  current  be- 
tween those  walls  and  me,  which  gave  me  back  something 
of  my  former  happiness.  Science  will  not  spoil  any- 


302  ON  THE  BRANCH 

thing  when  it  reveals  to  us  the  divine  mysteries  of  our 
life.  I  believe  that  love  is  a  thousand  times  more  beau- 
tiful and  greater  than  we  see  it.  I  am  not  sorry  to  be 
alone  here  for  a  few  days.  Isolation  would  be  intolerable 
to  me  now,  but  I  could  not  give  up  my  solitude  and  inde- 
pendence entirely. 

Aix-les-Bams. 

It  is  amusing  to  suddenly  see  changes  that  have  been 
taking  place  gradually.  Aix  has  not  been  losing  its 
time  since  my  last  visit,  just  sixteen  years  ago.  Its 
cleanliness  was  the  first  new  feature  which  struck  me. 
The  Mayor  and  the  Municipal  Council  deserve  a  good 
mark,  all  the  more  so  as  cleanliness  is  not  among  the 
instincts  of  the  natives.  I  found  that  fragment  of  an 
arch,  which  is  all  that  remains  of  the  Aix  of  the  Romans, 
still  standing.  It  seems  to  say  to  the  Aix  of  the  Savoy- 
ards. "  Remember  that  you  must  die."  The  visitors 
are  more  numerous,  and  there  is  more  rustling  of  silk 
now.  There  are  more  amusements,  too,  but  in  spite 
of  all  that,  Aix  has  lost  something.  It  has  been  deserted 
by  a  certain  class  of  people,  and  it  no  longer  has  that 
aristocratic  stamp  which  formerly  covered  the  multitude 
of  its  sins.  Its  sins !  In  all  watering-places  Life  de- 
scribes a  parabole  which  has  its  raison  d'etre,  the  sole 
end  of  which  is  not  merely  to  fill  the  pockets  of  the  in- 
habitants. In  March  or  April  the  arrival  of  the  first 
visitors  gives  the  initial  movement  —  this  movement  goes 
on  increasing  all  the  time.  In  August  it  attains  its  max- 
imum, it  then  begins  to  decrease,  and  in  October  it  ceases 
completely.  At  Aix,  in  that  peaceful  valley  which  is  like 
a  bee-hive  turned  upside  down,  with  mountains  for  walls, 
there  is  an  alarming  ebullition  of  passions,  of  joyous 
effervescence  of  life,  produced  by  the  beauty  of  women, 
pretty  toilettes,  the  glitter  of  jewellery,  by  an  infinity 


AIX-LES-BAINS  303 

of  things  which  good  people  do  not  suspect,  but  which 
they  unconsciously  enjoy.  All  this  lasts  for  five  or  six 
weeks.  People  love  at  Aix  by  the  day,  the  hour  or  the 
night;  they  hate  each  other,  are  jealous,  gamble  madly, 
get  rich  or  are  ruined.  Pleasures  succeed  pleasures. 
There  are  dinners,  suppers,  the  theatre,  excursions,  pic- 
nics, music,  illuminations,  dynamite  fireworks.  All  this 
increases  the  speed  of  the  whirlwind,  which  is  most 
violent  in  the  gambling-room  of  the  Club  and  of  the  Villa 
des  Fleurs.  The  little  cards  covered  with  figures,  with 
red  and  black  signs,  the  combinations  of  which  are  not 
left  to  men,  create  tempests  under  the  human  craniums 
round  the  green  tables.  The  demi-mondaines  add  the 
eternal  temptation,  and  the  atmosphere  is  laden  with  de- 
sire, covetousness  and  greed.  Words  are  heard  and  bar- 
gains made  that  give  one  a  shiver  of  pity,  ah,  yes,  of 
pity,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  one  has  to  go  away  to 
get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  from  outside.  The  Folies-Aix- 
oises  is  opposite  my  hotel.  The  other  evening  the  wild 
rhythm  of  the  music  and  the  vociferations  which  accom- 
panied it  made  me  suddenly  start  violently  and  exclaim 
aloud,  "  Why,  it  is  a  regular  bamboula!  "  It  was  as 
though  something  within  me  had  recognised  it,  and  I  was 
by  no  means  proud  of  this.  It  may  be  that  Nature  takes 
this  way  of  over-exciting  life  at  certain  points  with  us, 
just  as  with  the  negroes  of  Africa?  Is  not  the  regular 
annual  phenomenon  which  we  call  "  the  season,"  in  the 
capitals  and  the  watering-places,  the  bamboula  of  white 
people?  I  am  afraid  it  is  so.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  our 
bamboulas  are  more  elegant  and  refined,  they  include  the 
nobler  elements  that  we  have  acquired  through  all  the 
centuries,  but  all  the  same  they  are  of  the  same  character. 
We  certainly  have  beautiful  classical  music,  but  we  also 
have  the  tam-tam  of  the  music-halls,  which  reminds  one 
of  the  tribe  and  of  the  tent.  What  do  these  bamboulas 


304  ON  THE  BRANCH 

produce?  We  should  be  amazed,  perhaps,  if  we  were 
allowed  to  know,  and  I  repeat  with  Maeterlinck :  "  Evil 
is  the  good  that  we  do  not  understand."  Aix-les-Bains, 
Trouville,  Biarritz,  Monte  Carlo  are,  perhaps,  only  ac- 
celerators. 

Aix-les-Bains. 

The  Lussons  have  been  here  for  ten  days.  Their 
suite  of  rooms  is  on  the  same  floor  as  mine,  and  we  take 
our  meals  together  at  the  restaurant.  Thanks  to  this  in- 
timacy I  am  learning  to  know  Josee  better,  and  she  de- 
lights me  more  and  more.  I  am  struck  with  the  number 
of  Irish  and  English  traits  in  her  character  which  I  do 
not  see  in  her  mother.  Race,  like  disease,  frequently 
comes  out  only  in  the  second  or  third  generation. 
Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  loves  to  make  herself  useful,  to 
do  things  for  others.  Her  L!ndness  is  prompt  and  spon- 
taneous. I  take  my  bath  at  half -past  five  in  the  morn- 
ing. She  gets  up  at  five,  prepares  a  small  cup  of  tea 
with  lemon,  and  brings  it  to  me.  She  looks  sweet  in 
her  thin  white  dressing-gown,  through  which  one  can 
distinguish  the  youthfulness  and  harmony  of  her  fig- 
ure. Her  thick  plait  hangs  down  her  back,  and  her 
hair  is  loose  above  the  square,  pure  forehead  still  moist 
from  sleep.  The  man  who  marries  her  will  have  reason 
to  thank  the  gods. 

Josee  goes  through  the  furnace  in  which  we  live  like 
a  true  young  girl.  She  certainly  has  a  little  of  Eve'? 
curiosity,  though.  The  demi-mondaines,  with  their  ele- 
gance and  their  jewellery,  puzzle  her.  She  calls  them 
"  the  women  with  bad  eyes."  She  does  not  understand 
their  role,  and  is  trying  to  find  out  what  it  is.  When 
she  looks  at  them,  she  draws  her  eyebrows  together  in 
a  comic  way,  as  though  she  had  some  problem  to  re- 
solve. She  has  not  time,  fortunately,  to  dwell  upon  the 


AIX-LES-BAINS  305 

subject.  In  the  morning  she  goes  to  the  swimming- 
baths  and  then  for  a  cycle  ride.  In  the  afternoon,  when 
the  concert  is  over,  she  goes  up  to  the  Splendide  to 
tennis.  She  is  a  capital  player.  I  hope  that  this  provi- 
dential tennis  will  create  between  her  and  Guy  that 
comradeship  which  so  frequently  is  the  first  manifesta- 
tion of  love.  In  the  evening  she  is  taken  to  the  theatre 
whenever  the  play  is  possible.  During  the  intervals 
she  comes  to  talk  to  me  on  the  terrace,  and  her  fresh 
impressions  give  me  great  pleasure.  And  to  think  that 
we  have  to  be  old  in  order  to  realise  what  youth  is. 

I  am  getting  into  touch  again  with  the  good  people 
of  this  part  of  the  world,  people  whom  I  always  liked 
very  much  indeed.  I  find  them  very  little  changed. 
They  are  less  Savoyard,  but  not  yet  French.  The  native 
of  Savoy  has  a  very  marked  individuality.  He  is  both 
rugged  and  gentle  like  his  mountains;  his  character  is 
rather  difficult;  he  is  alive  to  his  own  interests,  proud, 
susceptible,  obstinate,  rebellious  to  progress.  There  is 
thorny  brushwood  to  lift,  but  underneath  a  generous, 
idealistic  and  intuitive  soul,  a  refined  nature.  Many  of 
these  distinctive  traits  are  to  be  found  among  the  people, 
particularly  among  the  bathing  men  and  women. 
Formerly  the  latter  were  simple  peasants,  the  women 
were  unaware  of  the  power  they  had  in  their  fingers, 
but  they  instinctively  exercised  it,  thanks  to  their 
atavism.  Now-a-days  they  call  themselves  professors, 
and  fancy  they  are  superior  to  the  doctors.  The 
massage  under  water  which  constitutes  the  douche  at 
Aix  is  really  unique.  I  realise  now  what  an  art  there 
is  in  that  gentle,  and  yet  firm  pressure  which  makes  our 
muscles  flexible  again.  I  am  grateful  to  Providence, 
and  I  have  the  utmost  respect  for  the  hands  of  these 
humble  people,  which  are  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  instruments  of  Providence,  and  which  give  me  a 


306 

little  of  their  strength  and  their  life.  Nearly  all  these 
bathing-women  have  intelligent  faces.  However  mer- 
cenary they  may  be,  the  gratuity  alone  does  not  suffice 
to  make  them  like  their  patients,  but  when  they  do 
like  them  they  put  something  more  into  the  massage. 
When  they  are  resting,  they  put  on  a  picturesque  cloak 
of  rough,  black  cloth  with  a  cape,  which  they  cut  out 
for  themselves,  and,  curiously  enough,  this  is  now  the 
latest  fashion.  The  bathing  establishment  has  now 
become  very  grand.  There  is  quite  an  army  of  attend- 
ants, and  a  very  smart  hall-porter  who  speaks  English. 
I  could  not  help  smiling  when  I  noticed  that  the  people 
of  Aix  have  divided  their  streets  in  order  to  multiply 
them  and  to  be  able  to  give  more  names  to  them. 
Every  ten  yards  there  is  now  a  fresh  street.  There  is, 
of  course,  the  Avenue  Pierpont  Morgan  and  Georges  I 
Street.  The  American  millionaire  and  the  King  of 
Greece  are  very  popular,  not  only  because  they  leave 
money  to  the  country,  but  because,  in  some  occult  way, 
they  have  won  the  favour  of  the  crowd.  The  native 
of  Savoy  was  Piedmontese  with  something  of  the  Italian 
in  him.  He  does  not  care  for  the  person  who  loves  him 
or  who  does  him  any  good  turn;  he  only  cares  for  any 
one  who  is  congenial  to  him. 

Aix-les-Bains  has  tea-rooms,  of  course.  I  have  just 
discovered  a  new  one  in  the  Place  Carnot.  It  is  kept 
by  two  young  English  women.  The  tables,  with  green 
marble  tops,  the  cane-bottomed  chairs,  as  plain  as  Chip- 
pendales, the  brown  tea-services,  give  to  the  whole  a 
touch  of  originality  and  British  Puritanism  which  has 
a  certain  charm.  Flowers  relieve  the  severity,  the  tea 
is  perfect,  and  the  warm,  buttered  scones  delicious. 
"  My  boy  "  will  appreciate  them.  "  My  boy !  "  I  often 
call  him  this  now,  for  the  appellation  expresses  just 
the  sentiment  of  maternal  and  feminine  affection  that 


AIX-LES-BAINS  307 

I  feel  for  him.  I  am  anxious  to  see  him  again,  and  I 
wonder  in  what  state  of  mind  he  will  arrive.  I  am 
counting  on  his  automobile  for  taking  baths  of  moun- 
tain air.  The  Aix  air,  filled  from  morning  to  night 
with  the  music  of  the  Villa  des  Fleurs,  the  tam-tam  of 
the  Folies-Aixoises,  the  railway  whistle,  which  the  echo 
of  the  surrounding  mountains  repeats,  tires  me  hor- 
ribly. Yesterday,  a  dear  friend,  whom  I  had  met  again 
here,  took  me  to  Chante-Merle,  a  village  on  the  heights. 
The  silence  did  me  so  much  good  that  I  did  not  want 
to  come  down  again.  Evidently  I  am  too  old  for  bam- 
boulas. 

Aix-les-Bains. 

Guy  arrived  sooner  than  I  expected  him.  When  I 
expressed  my  surprise  at  this,  he  put  his  arm  round 
my  neck. 

"  I  can't  do  without  you  now,  god-mother,"  he  said, 
drawing  me  towards  him. 

Then,  standing  back  to  read  my  face,  he  continued  — 

"  You  are  not  sorry  to  see  me  again,  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  that  your  absence  seemed  long  to 
me,"  I  answered,  not  without  some  emotion. 

"That's  all  right!" 

His  face  clouded  over  with  sudden  sadness. 

"  '  Les  Rocheilles  '  is  so  cold  now.  No  more  beautiful 
dark  eyes ;  no  more  affectionate  smiles ;  no  pretty  silk 
rustlings.  It  wants  a  mother,  it  wants  a  woman,"  he 
added,  turning  a  little  pale.  "  I  hadn't  the  strength  of 
mind  to  stay  any  longer,  so  here  I  am." 

He  had  come  in  two  days  through  the  Jura  and  with- 
out a  breakdown,  with  Louis,  of  course.  By  my  advice 
he  put  up  at  the  Splendide.  The  presence  of  Josee 
at  the  Palace  Hotel  made  that  arrangement  seem  better. 
He  joined  our  circle,  of  course.  The  vague  resemblance 


308  ON  THE  BRANCH 

between  Madame  de  Lusson  and  his  mother  struck  him, 
as  it  had  me,  and  awakened  his  interest.  The  ice  be- 
tween him  and  my  little  friend  was  broken  at  once  by 
the  words  which  came  to  my  lips,  I  do  not  know  how.  • 

"  Here  is  some  one  who  has  a  serious  grudge  against 
you,"  I  said  to  the  latter. 

"  Who  has  a  grudge  against  me  ?  " 

Josee  looked  at  Guy  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"  Yes,  because  you  are  now  the  mistress  of  Chavigny. 
As  Monsieur  de  Myeres'  god-son,  and  as  second  cousin  by 
marriage,  M.  de  Hauterive  thinks  he  has  more  right  to  it 
than  you,  and  he  declares  that  you  have  cut  the  ground 
from  under  his  feet." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  do  not  regret  it,"  answered  Made- 
moiselle de  Lusson,  mischievously. 

"  Anyhow,  if  one  of  these  days  you  should  be  tempted 
to  sell  your  estate,  you  will  know  where  to  find  a  pur- 
chaser, and  you  will  at  least  give  him  the  preference." 

"To  sell  it?     Oh,  never!" 

To  my  secret  delight  I  saw  the  spirit  of  teasing  come 
into  "  my  boy's  "  eyes. 

"Who  knows?  I  shall  go  on  hoping,"  he  answered, 
tranquilly. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  have  no  objection." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

These  words,  pronounced  in  a  mocking  tone,  pro- 
duced a  gaiety  which  seemed  to  me  of  good  omen.  I 
had  never  seen  my  god-son  among  strangers.  He  is 
neither  awkward  nor  shy.  He  always  seems  to  show 
to  the  best  advantage,  and  his  manners  are  perfect. 
Much  of  his  refinement  is  due,  I  am  sure,  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Madame  de  Mauriones.  One  can  tell  a  man 
among  a  hundred  who  owes  his  initiation  to  a  woman 
of  good  birth,  rather  than  to  a  mere  society  woman. 
Guy  appears  to  be  very  gay;  he  is  trying  to  make  me 


AIX-LES-BAINS  309 

believe  that  he  has  completely  recovered  his  self-mas- 
tery. I  am  not  taken  in  by  appearances,  though.  The 
day  before  yesterday  I  was  watching  him  without  his 
knowledge.  He  was  leaning  back  in  an  arm-chair,  on 
the  terrace  of  the  Club,  with  an  unread  newspaper 
on  his  knees,  his  head  rather  thrown  back,  his  eyes 
half-closed  under  the  turned-down  brim  of  his  hat. 
He  appeared  to  be  dreaming  or  dozing,  and  on  his 
face  there  was  such  an  expression  of  sadness,  and  in 
his  whole  attitude  such  discouragement,  that  I  was 
touched  by  it  to  the  very  depths  of  my  soul.  I  moved 
away  discreetly  without  approaching  him.  He  does 
not  want  commonplace  consolations.  I  constantly  see 
some  of  the  pretty  women  of  the  Villa  des  Fleurs  prowl- 
ing round  him,  trying  to  attract  his  attention,  even  in 
my  presence.  It  always  leaves  him  visibly  cold.  Love, 
offered  in  a  common  cup,  cannot  tempt  his  lips  which 
have  drunk,  for  the  first  time,  from  a  cup  of  gold.  The 
state  of  mind  in  which  he  now  is  seems  to  render  him 
inaccessible.  I  am  afraid  lest  Josee  should  fall  in  love 
with  him  and  he  should  not  care  for  her.  Heaven  pre- 
serve me  from  being  the  instrument  of  such  grief  for 
my  little  friend.  Nothing  would  ever  console  me  for 
that.  This  thought  keeps  me  awake  half  the  night. 
Will  he  notice  her  hair  that  grows  so  prettily,  her 
Irish  eyes,  her  elegant  figure?  Will  he  notice?  Every- 
thing depends  on  that. 

Aix-les-Bains. 

What  subtlety  in  the  working  out  of  our  destiny ! 
This  afternoon  the  rain,  a  veritable  Aix  douche,  had 
made  tennis  impossible.  My  god-son  and  I  had  taken 
tea  on  the  terrace  of  the  Club. 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  said,  looking  at  the  people  grouped 
about  here  and  there,  "  that  I  have  never  seen  any 


310  ON  THE  BRANCH 

French  people  here  with  a  book  or  a  review  in  their 
hands." 

"  Aix  is  not  precisely  favourable  for  reading." 

"  Agreed,  but  look  at  all  those  English  people  deep 
in  their  novels.  I  believe  that,  after  the  Italian  and 
Spanish,  we  are  the  people  who  read  the  least.  It  is 
rather  discouraging  for  writers.  The  other  day, 
though,  I  had  a  pleasant  surprise.  I  saw  a  young  man 
near  me  reading  —  guess  what  ?  " 

"  One  of  Jean  Noel's  novels  ?  " 

"  No,  silly  boy,"  I  answered,  smiling.  "  He  was 
reading  Jocelyn,  by  Lamartine!  Jocelyn,  under  the 
shade  of  the  Villa  des  Fleurs,  a  few  steps  away  from  the 
baccarat  tables  and  from  a  crowd  of  pretty  women !  I 
at  once  looked  to  see  whether  the  reader  were  deformed 
or  lame.  No,  he  was  even  very  handsome,  but  he  had 
a  poet's  forehead,  dreamy  eyes,  and  long,  slender  hands. 
He  was  smoking  his  cigarette  leisurely,  and  on  his  smooth 
lips  I  could  see  something  of  the  emotion  that  I  had 
once  experienced  myself.  I  could  have  kissed  him." 

Guy  drew  himself  up,  his  eye  sparkling  with  fun. 

"  God-mother,  I  must  buy  this  Jocelyn"  he  said. 

"  Buying  it  is  not  everything ;  you  must  be  capable 
of  feeling  it." 

"  You  think  I  have  not  the  necessary  bumps,"  he 
said,  taking  off  his  hat,  "  and  that  my  fingers  do  not 
taper  enough?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  I  answered,  smiling. 

"  Very  well,  we  will  see,"  he  remarked,  stung  to  the 
quick. 

"  Joking  apart,  I  don't  know  any  book  which  gives 
such  a  sensation  of  true  love." 

"  A  sensation  of  true  love !  "  repeated  my  god-son, 
with  an  ironical  vibration  in  his  voice.  "  Ah,  I'll  treat 
myself  to  that !  Where  can  I  get  this  precious  book  ?  " 


AIX-LES-BAINS  311 

"  At  Carrier's,  Rue  des  Bains." 

"  Til  go  at  once." 

And  he  started,  leaving  me  quite  aghast  at  the  effect 
of  my  words. 

Jocelyn!  Ah,  the  divine  accumulator!  It  was  by  it 
that  I  had  had  the  sensation  of  love  long  before  know- 
ing it.  Every  time  that  I  have  read  it  since,  even  last 
year,  it  communicated  to  me  the  same  warmth,  the 
same  emotion.  By  touching  it  only,  as  if  a  peculiar 
fluid  emanated  from  it,  my  very  fingers  are  affected 
by  it.  Is  Providence  about  to  employ  this  agent  for 
touching  Guy's  heart  once  more?  Nothing  is  too  small 
for  the  greatness  of  Providence. 

Aix-les-Bains. 

E  fatto  il  miracolo!  as  the  priest  says,  when  showing 
the  Neapolitan  people  the  liquified  blood  of  St.  Janvier. 
The  miracle  is  accomplished!  Guy,  I  believe,  has  no- 
ticed "  the  hair  that  grows  so  prettily,  the  Irish  eyes,  and 
the  elegant  figure  "  of  my  little  friend.  The  admiration 
of  another  man  opened  his  eyes.  The  way  is  as  classic 
as  Nature  itself,  but  some  variety  is  always  introduced. 
I  was  lucky  enough  to  be  present  and  to  witness  the 
phenomenon.  It  seemed  to  me  very  pretty. 

My  god-son,  who  has  no  rheumatism,  goes  in  the 
early  morning  to  bathe  in  the  lake,  like  a  young  god, 
and  towards  ten  o'clock  he  arrives  at  the  Palace  Hotel 
with  his  automobile  and  takes  us,  the  Lussons  and 
me,  for  a  drive  in  the  environs.  Josee,  to  whom 
Madame  de  Lusson  willingly  gives  up  her  seat,  is  get- 
ting more  and  more  devoted  to  this  sport,  which  she 
thinks  more  exciting  than  cycling.  She  does  not  fail 
to  express  our  delight  to  our  driver,  but  he  only 
smiles  vaguely.  I  am  quite  aware  that  the  chauffeur 
always  belongs  too  much  to  his  machine  to  be  able  to 


ON  THE  BRANCH 

think  of  anything  else.  He  is  always  more  or  less 
intoxicated  with  speed  and  air;  I  have  therefore  given 
up  my  afternoon  excursions,  and  sent  my  two  young 
people  to  tennis.  A  real  mother  could  not  be  worse. 
There  is  at  present  a  brilliant  team  of  women  and, 
thanks  to  the  presence  of  three  good  men  players,  the 
game  is  more  interesting  than  usual.  Yesterday  I  went 
with  my  little  friend.  The  tennis-ground,  the  trellis 
of  which  is  covered  with  wild  vines,  makes  a  charming 
frame  for  all  these  active  young  people  dressed  in 
white.  Seated  in  the  shade,  I  watched  the  game  with 
interest.  How  much  race  and  character  can  be  dis- 
tinguished in  sports !  The  French  girl,  whether  she 
takes  the  ball  straight  or  backhanded  or  when  it  is 
down,  or  whether  she  is  serving  even  a  hard  service, 
is  always  graceful,  and  never  dislocates  herself  like 
the  English  girl.  Her  well-cut  dress  always  seems  to 
harmonise  with  the  rhythm  of  her  movements.  Dur- 
ing the  intervals  she  is  a  living  poem  of  the  most  varied 
and  charming  attitudes.  Ah,  she  really  knows  how  to 
make  the  most  of  herself!  The  Frenchwoman  is  the 
woman  for  the  intervals  of  life,  as  well  as  of  tennis. 

Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  was  my  god-son's  adversary. 
On  both  sides  the  game  was  well  played,  but  the  victory 
was  in  the  latter's  camp.  Guy  at  once  came  to  me.  He 
looked  very  handsome  in  his  flannels,  with  the  excite- 
ment of  combat  and  the  pleasure  of  triumph  on  his 
face. 

A  few  steps  away  from  us  were  two  Englishmen  who, 
with  a  conscious  air  of  superiority  in  sport,  had  fol- 
lowed the  last  phases  of  the  game. 

"  Deuced  pretty  girl  over  there,  holding  her  racket 
behind  her  back.  Plays  a  good  game,  too.  English, 
I  bet,"  said  one  of  them. 

"  Oh !  she  is  French  enough !     Where  are  your  eyes  ? 


AIX-LES-BAINS  313 

Look  at  her  figure,  and  her  dress  too.  Parisian  make, 
I  should  say,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Well,  if  she  is  not  English,  she  ought  to  be  — 
Deuced  pretty  girl." 

With  this  twice  repeated  compliment  the  two  Eng- 
lishmen moved  away.  They  had  said  their  say,  played 
their  little  role,  no  doubt.  Thanks  to  the  suggestion 
in  their  words,  I  saw  Guy's  eyes  wander  towards  Made- 
moiselle de  Lusson  and  suddenly  shine,  as  though  they 
had  been  touched  by  an  inward  flame.  It  was  only  a 
flash,  but  that  flash  was  reflected  within  me. 

"  You  heard  ?  "  I  said,  smiling  to  my  companion.  "  Is 
it  not  curious  that  young  John  Bull  should  have  recog- 
nised his  race  in  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson?  " 

"  By  her  attitude,  no  doubt.  She  often  puts  her 
hands  behind  her  back  like  English  girls.  I  took  it 
for  a  rather  wicked  bit  of  coquetry  on  her  part;  it  is, 
perhaps,  only  atavism." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  Her  eyes,  for  instance,  are  cer- 
tainly Irish." 

"  You  think  so." 

Josee,  to  whom  I  had  beckoned,  came  to  us.  Guy 
looked  at  her  with  a  new  curiosity,  as  if  to  see  what 
there  was  Irish  in  her  eyes. 

"  Let  us  go  ?  "  I  said,  "  it  is  getting  late ;  we  shall 
scarcely  have  time  to  change  our  dresses." 

My  god-son  went  with  us  some  little  way  along  the 
road,  and  when  he  stopped  to  take  leave  of  us,  he  said 
mischievously,  raising  his  hat  to  my  little  friend  — 

"  Homage  to  the  vanquished." 

"  Who  will  be  the  conqueror  to-morrow,"  she  replied 
good-humouredly. 

I  looked  up  and  saw  that  we  were  exactly  opposite 
the  house  where  M.  de  Myeres  and  I  had  lived.  These 
words  of  consolation  and  hope,  just  where  the  very 


314  ON  THE  BRANCH 

atmosphere  was  full  of  his  memory,  seemed  to  me 
prophetic.  Deeply  moved,  and  amazed  as  well,  I  went 
down  the  hill  saying  to  myself:  E  fatto  II  miracolo. 

Aix-les-Bains. 

No,  I  was  not  mistaken.  Everything  has  happened 
to  confirm  the  impression  I  had  on  the  Splendide  ten- 
nis-ground. I  have  a  deep  conviction  that  the  work 
for  which  I  was  sent  here  is  accomplished.  Will  it 
lead  to  the  union  that  I  desire?  Chi  lo  sa?  How  wise 
and  deep  it  is,  that  Italian  phrase ! 

Guy  openly  seeks  the  society  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Lusson.  It  has  amused  him  to  draw  her  out,  to  make 
her  talk,  and,  in  a  bantering  way,  the  cleverness  of 
which  has  not  been  lost  on  me,  he  has  led  her  on  to 
reveal  herself.  The  revelation  has  rather  charmed  him, 
I  think.  He  expressed  his  surprise  to  me  on  discover- 
ing in  her  that  fine  instinct  of  altruism  which  broadens 
not  only  our  views,  but  life  itself. 

"  Marriage  will  soon  bring  her  down  to  the  common 
level,"  he  added.  "  At  the  end  of  two  years  of  married 
life,  young  women  who  have  received  a  higher  educa- 
tion have  forgotten  everything.  I  am  not  the  only  one 
to  have  noticed  this." 

"  That  is  not  the  fault  of  marriage,  but  of  the  hus- 
band. An  American  once  expressed  his  surprise  to  me 
on  seeing  that  the  wife  in  France  has  so  little  social 
existence,  and  seems  still  to  be  the  property  of  the 
husband,  his  chattel.  I  could  not  deny  it.  I  hope  that 
my  little  friend  will  find  a  companion  intelligent  enough 
to  cultivate  her  individuality  instead  of  trying  to  lessen 
it." 

"  Amen,  god-mother,"  he  answered,  with  an  enigmatic 
smile. 

On  Tuesday  something  very  curious  happened.     We 


AIX-LES-BAINS  315 

had  just  arrived  by  automobile  at  Annecy,  Monsieur  de 
Lusson,  his  daughter  and  I.  We  were  walking  by  the 
lake  whilst  lunch  was  being  prepared  at  the  Hotel  de  Ver- 
dun et  de  Geneve.  Guy  suddenly  began  to  walk  on  ahead 
of  us,  and  Josee,  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  I  am  sure, 
imitated  him,  so  that  for  about  a  hundred  yards  they 
were  walking  along  side  by  side,  as  though  on  the  way 
to  some  distant  goal.  I  saw  Monsieur  de  Lusson  frown 
and  watch  them  with  a  vexed  look.  To  my  great  relief 
the  girl  suddenly  stopped,  turned  round  and  waited 
for  us. 

"  We  are  going  on  as  though  we  wanted  to  leave 
you,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  confusion. 

"  I  think  speed  is  contagious,"  added  Guy,  not  with- 
out some  embarrassment.  "  When  one  gets  out  of  an 
automobile,  it  seems  as  though  one  must  run  instead  of 
walk." 

"  It  has  not  that  effect  on  us,  the  automobile,  has  it, 
Madame  de  Myeres?  "  said  my  companion  in  a  mocking 
tone. 

"  Alas,  no,"  I  replied,  with  deep  regret. 

Neither  of  the  two  young  people  had  any  idea  of 
the  force  which  had  brought  them  together  at  that 
moment,  but  I  had  guessed  what  it  was. 

On  Thursday  I  invited  the  Lussons,  some  other  friends, 
and  my  god-son  to  tea  at  the  little  English  tea-shop, 
Place  Carnot.  Out  of  pure  psychological  curiosity  I 
asked  Josee  to  pour.  She  did  so  with  her  customary  ease. 
I  noticed  that  she  prepared  Guy's  tea  much  more  slowly, 
and  that  her  fingers  lingered  over  this  task  as  though  they 
found  a  secret  pleasure  in  it.  When  she  passed  him  his 
cup  there  was  astonishment  mingled  with  anxiety  in  her 
eyes,  and  at  the  corner  of  her  lips  an  excited  smile.  She 
could  not  have  explained  all  this  herself,  probably.  She 
will  have  many  other  surprises,  this  little  friend  of  mine ; 


316  ON  THE  BRANCH 

but  in  the  mean  time  I  feel  sure  about  her  state  of  mind. 

As  to  Guy,  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  face  lighted  up, 
that  the  sap  of  youth,  which  for  a  time  had  been  ar- 
rested, had  been  revived  within  him.  The  unusual 
weather  which  we  are  having  has  made  me  give  up  my 
journey  to  Switzerland,  so  that  he  has  decided  to  go 
alone  to  Dauphiny.  In  order  to  draw  him  again  within 
our  circle  where,  I  think,  he  might  find  happiness,  I  asked 
him  to  come  to  Tours  towards  the  end  of  October,  to  take 
me  to  the  Chateaux  on  the  Loire  and  then  back  to  Paris. 

His  face  lighted  up  with  youthful  j  oy ,  but  there  was  a 
suspicious  colour  too. 

"  God-mother,  you  are  a  veritable  well  of  good  ideas," 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  neither  know  Loches,  Chenonceaux  nor 
Amboise." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  see  them  together,"  I  said, 
smiling ;  "  and  so  that  they  may  be  more  living,  I  advise 
you  to  read  up  the  epoch  again  in  Henri  Martin's  His- 
tory of  France." 

"  I  will  read  it,  yes,  I  will  certainly  read  it,"  he  replied 
with  enthusiasm.  "  Do  you  know  that  it  is  the  reading 
of  your  Jocelyn  which  made  me  want  to  see  Dauphiny  ? 
I  shall  take  it  with  me.  If  I  should  die  on  the  road, 
people  will  be  very  much  surprised  to  find  that  poem  of 
Lamertine's  in  the  portmanteau  of  an  automobilist.  You 
are  right,"  he  added  in  a  more  serious  voice,  "  it  contains 
the  very  essence  of  love." 

"  Of  pure  love.  Certainly  the  drink  would  be  danger- 
ous for  a  boarding-school  girl,  but  I  think  it  is  good  for 
a  young  man." 

"  And  although  I  have  not  a  poet's  forehead,  nor  long, 
slender  hands,  I  appreciate  the  flavour  of  it." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  dear  boy,"  I  answered, 
smiling  at  him  and  his  wounded  vanity. 

Yes,  he  has  gone  to  the  Dauphiny  mountains,  and  the 


AIX-LES-BAINS  317 

intangible,  invisible  force  which  made  him  turn  his  ma- 
chine in  that  direction  was  a  ray  from  the  soul  of  Lamar- 
tine.  How  beautiful  Life  is ! 

We  all  went  up  to  the  Splendide  to  be  there  for  his 
departure.  He  seemed  to  be  quite  touched  by  that. 
After  shaking  hands  cordially,  he  stepped  brusquely  into 
his  quivering  machine.  With  his  left  hand  on  the  steer- 
ing-wheel, he  turned  round,  raised  his  hat  to  us  again,  and 
his  last  look  went  straight,  not  to  god-mother  —  but  to 
Josee!  God-mother  now  retired  to  the  background! 
Still  another  little  move,  and,  like  the  marionettes  of  be- 
loved memory,  she  will  disappear  altogether.  Ah,  well, 
Life  is  always  beautiful! 

Aix-les-Bains. 

Aix  has  completely  changed.  The  fine  birds  of  prey 
have  flown  away  to  Biarritz ;  the  fashionable  women  have 
returned  to  their  chateaux  or  villas.  The  brilliant  waves 
have  disappeared  with  them,  the  picture  has  become  dull, 
the  movement  has  slackened.  There  is  still  a  noise,  but 
no  more  hubbub.  An  American  woman  said  to  me  yes- 
terday, with  that  frank  way  of  speaking  which  amuses 
me,  "  Aix  has  become  disgustingly  respectable."  It  is 
true,  serious  people  lack  electricity,  they  have  not  the 
joyous  effervescence  of  champagne,  but  rather  the  quiet 
strength  of  Burgundy.  When  men  of  science  are  able 
to  decompose  the  moral  elements,  of  which  we  are  con- 
stituted, they  will  have  some  fine  surprises.  I  leave  this 
evening,  and  am  not  going  direct  to  Touraine,  but  to 
Normandy,  as  a  kind  and  pressing  invitation  has  come 
to  me  from  there.  The  noise,  the  heat  and  my  tension  of 
mind  have  caused  me  such  fatigue  that  I  feel  in  desperate 
need  of  the  country  and  of  quiet.  The  Lussons  wanted 
to  come  back  here  for  me  from  Thonon,  where  they  have 
gone  to  pay  a  short  visit  before  returning  home,  but  I 
objected  to  this. 


318  ON  THE  BRANCH 

According  to  an  old  habit  I  went  to  take  leave  of  the 
places  and  things  which  had  given  me  pleasure.  I  said 
a  long  farewell  to  the  beloved  villa  on  the  hill.  I  went 
up  to  the  Boulevard  des  Cotes  and  to  that  of  La  Roche- 
du-Roy  to  see  the  little  valley  again,  to  feel  once  more 
fchat  effect  of  light  which  gives  to  these  mountains  and 
to  the  lake  a  voice,  a  soul,  a  subtle  and  living  charm,  such 
as  I  have  never  met  with  elsewhere.  On  coming  down 
again  I  looked  for  a  few  moments  with  wonder  and  grat- 
itude at  a  certain  group,  signed  by  Geoffroy,  placed  at 
the  entrance  to  the  park.  It  represents  a  lion  lying  laz- 
ily down ;  the  lioness  is  exciting  it  to  play  by  offering  it 
the  top  of  her  head,  which  it  licks  gravely,  its  eyes  half 
closed  in  happiness.  This  wild  beast's  kiss,  is  it  very  zo- 
ological? This  I  do  not  know,  but  such  deep  sentiment 
emanates  from  it,  and  such  strength  of  love,  that,  every 
morning  on  passing  it  on  my  way  to  the  baths,  it  gave 
my  old  woman's  heart  a  ray  of  warmth,  a  sensation  of 
great  affection.  Am  I  not  right  in  saying  that  every 
work  of  art  is  destined  to  maintain  and  propagate  Life 
on  earth? 

This  evening  I  shall  bid  farewell  to  the  Palace  Hotel, 
to  the  few  persons  with  whom  I  have  made  acquaintance, 
to  Fran9oise,  my  Savoy  maid.  How  many  farewells  I 
have  said  and  heard  during  the  last  sixteen  years ! 


IX 


POETE-JOIE 

Porte-Joie. 

A  SMALL,  village  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  inhabitants, 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  and  on  the  borders  of  a 
huge  fertile  plain,  in  the  midst  of  wonderful  scenery ; 
a  village  which  is  only  two  hours  and  a  half  by  rail 
from  Paris,  but  which  leads  nowhere.  Neither  a  poor 
person,  a  tramp  nor  a  mere  stroller  is  ever  to  be  met 
with  there.  It  is  a  place  only  known  to  artists,  a  place 
where  Daubigny  planted  his  tent.  A  year  ago  I  did 
not  know  of  its  existence.  The  Will  which  has  made 
my  destiny  so  fantastic,  arranged,  last  winter,  for  me 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  owner  of  the  only  villa 
in  the  village,  and  a  cordial,  affectionate  invitation  has 
brought  me  here.  I  cannot  describe  the  pleasure  I  felt 
on  finding,  at  the  station  of  St.  Pierre-du-Vouvray, 
not  an  omnibus,  but  a  farmer's  trap,  drawn  by  a  regular 
country  priest's  donkey,  so  strong  and  plump.  As 
soon  as  I  was  in  this  free  expanse  of  open  country 
I  had  a  sense  of  restfulness  and  well-being.  The  house, 
preceded  by  what  is  called  "  a  Norman  courtyard,"  that 
is,  a  meadow  planted  with  apple-trees,  made  an  agreeable 
impression  on  me.  Its  verandah  is  fringed  with  wild 
vine  and  its  walls  covered  with  fruit-trees.  The  interior 
of  the  house  is  very  congenial.  No  pretentious  drawing- 
room,  but  a  cheerful,  light  studio,  its  wide  bay  windows 
opening  on  the  Seine.  Here  and  there  the  artist  is 

319 


320  ON  THE  BRANCH 

revealed  by  a  piece  of  sculpture,  a  picture,  tapestry,  and 
the  arrangement  of  the  flowers.  In  my  room,  which 
is  as  long  as  a  picture-gallery,  I  have  the  morning,  mid- 
day and  evening  light.  With  its  five  windows,  my  room 
takes  in  nearly  the  whole  of  the  horizon,  from  the  pretty 
Herqueville  beach  on  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  to  the 
hills  that  bound  the  plain.  Under  my  windows  is  a 
garden  full  of  roses,  opposite  to  me  the  steeple  of  the 
old  church,  and  quite  near  a  tree  inhabited  by  black- 
caps, torn-tits  and  goldfinches,  who  give  me  the  joy  of 
their  little  lives.  I  felt  a  childish  pleasure  in  seeing  the 
boats  of  the  Navigation  Co.  going  up  and  down  the 
Seine,  and  I  never  tire  of  admiring  the  neatness  of  their 
storage.  I  had  not  had  such  entertainment  for  a  long 
time. 

My  hostess,  who  is  very  much  occupied,  and  also 
very  tactful,  leaves  me  free  to  wander  at  my  fancy. 
I  have  been  for  some  long  walks  along  the  river  and 
across  the  plain,  drinking  in  with  delight  that  keen, 
sweet  air  which  seems  to  have  been  specially  prepared 
for  my  lungs.  On  the  way  I  had  fragments  of  amusing 
conversation  with  old  peasant  women,  and  I  noticed, 
not  without  pleasure,  that  animals  are  better  under- 
stood and  better  treated  than  formerly.  One  could  tell 
that,  too,  by  their  gentleness.  I  often  stopped  to  say  a 
friendly  word  to  the  beautiful  Normandy  cows,  to  the 
pretty  heifers,  and  all  of  them  appeared  sensitive  to 
the  caressing  tone  of  my  voice.  I  am  on  very  good 
terms  with  a  troop  of  geese  which  sport  about  every 
morning  in  the  Seine  and  attend  to  their  toilette  on 
the  grassy  banks.  The  first  day,  the  sight  of  me  alarmed 
them  all,  the  second  day  they  put  up  with  me,  and  now 
they  know  me  perfectly  well.  How  good  and  restful 
all  this  is  after  the  season  of  Aix-les-Bains.  I  must  say, 
though,  that  Porte- Joie  does  not  justify  its  name.  It  is 


PORTE-JOIE  821 

ideally  pretty,  but  has  nothing  exhilarating;  it  is  curi- 
ously cold.  Built  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  it  has  no 
depth,  and  only  extends  lengthwise.  Its  farms  have 
not  the  picturesqueness  of  the  former  dwellings  of  the 
peasants.  They  are  new  houses  of  bourgeois  aspect, 
with  manure-heaps  and  poultry-yards.  The  Municipal 
school  is  as  ugly  here  as  it  is  everywhere  else.  Then 
Porte-Joie  is  not  a  religious  place,  and  the  inhabitants 
do  not  go  much  to  Church.  On  Sunday,  at  Mass,  there 
were  five  persons,  "  one  of  whom  was  a  man,"  as  Footit 
would  say.  There  is,  therefore,  no  resident  priest. 
The  presbytery  is  let  to  railway  employes.  The  old 
Church,  which  turns  its  apsis  towards  the  Seine,  is  closed 
all  the  week.  Its  silent  steeple  neither  rings  the  Angelus 
nor  the  fete  days.  One  would  say  that  in  this  part  of 
the  world  people  are  neither  born,  nor  do  they  marry 
nor  die.  The  peasants  have  hard,  even  hostile  faces. 
They  do  not  salute  strangers  like  the  Touraine  peasants. 
Along  the  roads  of  the  Norman  plain  one  meets  hand- 
some young  men  with  blue  eyes  and  clearly  modelled 
features.  They  remind  one  of  certain  Englishmen  of 
old  race  who,  probably,  have  the  same  ancestors  as  these 
Normans. 

The  increase  of  luxury  and  comfort  is  perceptible 
here  as  elsewhere.  The  baby-children  and  the  little 
girls  all  have  a  scrap  of  ribbon  to  tie  up  their  hair. 
Yesterday  I  met  a  child  of  fourteen.  She  was  very  well 
dressed,  and  in  one  hand  she  had  a  book,  while  with 
the  other  she  held  the  ropes  of  three  cows  that  she  was 
taking  to  the  field.  This  seemed  to  me  very  character- 
istic of  our  epoch,  and  I  smiled  at  this  progress. 

Before  disappearing  behind  the  heights  of  Gaillon, 
the  sun  sends  some  of  its  rays  over  the  river,  flashes 
bands  of  gold,  silver  and  of  that  green  called  in 
heraldry  sinople.  Just  above  the  Herqueville  shore  it 


322  ON  THE  BRANCH 

touches  some  rocks,  which  seem  to  have  been  left  bare 
in  order  to  receive  its  kiss  when  setting,  and  this  mar- 
vellous illumination  only  produces  sadness.  Why  is 
this?  This  Seine  is  very  wide  here,  and,  divided  by 
islands,  it  looks  like  a  grand  old  river.  On  moonlight 
nights  it  has  a  powerful  effect.  The  woody  slope  of  the 
opposite  bank  throws  fantastic  shadows  on  to  it.  At 
a  certain  turning  one  expects  to  see,  not  barges,  and 
still  less  towing  boats,  but  pirogues,  and  twice  I  have 
felt,  when  standing  at  my  window,  the  thrill  of  a  far- 
distant  past.  No,  Porte-Joie  is  not  gay,  and  yet  the 
fortnight's  halt  that  I  have  just  had  here  has  seemed 
to  me  delightful,  refreshing  and  very  short  —  too  short, 
alas,  for  to-morrow  I  must  go  away.  I  am  now  feeling 
the  fatigue  of  all  that  I  have  lived  through  during  the 
year  that  has  just  gone  by.  My  mind  and  body  have 
never  ceased  to  be  under  high  pressure,  and  they  are 
now  beginning  to  need  rest.  At  times  I  am  tempted 
to  return  to  Paris,  to  take  refuge  in  my  rooms  at  the 
Hotel  de  Castiglione  and  not  to  leave  them  again.  Ap- 
parently there  is  nothing  to  prevent  my  doing  this, 
but  I  know  very  well  that  my  Vouvray  friends,  the 
Lussons,  Josee,  Guy,  Colette's  wish,  my  own  desire  to 
finish  my  work,  are  only  mediums  of  that  providential 
Will  which  is  sending  me  to  Touraine.  I  feel,  never- 
theless, within  me  a  vague  resistance.  The  thought  of 
the  little  journey  alarms  me;  I  am  not  sufficiently  rested, 
probably.  Then,  too,  I  shall  regret  my  hostess,  this 
home  which  has  really  been  "  a  good  resting-place,"  and 
my  large  room  full  of  light.  I  shall  regret  Jean-Jean, 
fl*e  cat,  and  its  pretty  purring;  Jeanette,  the  ass  which 
has  taken  me  out  so  patiently  and  so  philosophically, 
saluting  me  always  with  a  joyous  bray.  Of  what  use 
are  regrets?  They  help  to  make  Life,  I  fancy. 

The    Porte-Joie    evenings    are    melancholy,    but    the 


PORTE-JOIE  323 

dawns  are  radiant.  I  wanted  to  enjoy  one  for  the  last 
time,  and  this  morning  I  opened  my  window  before 
six  o'clock  and  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  beauty  of 
the  picture  before  me.  The  sun  had  just  risen  above 
the  Herqueville  slope;  the  sky  was  absolutely  clear; 
the  Seine  rosy  and  without  a  single  eddy.  In  the  peace- 
ful air,  of  such  dewy  transparency,  hundreds  of  swal- 
lows formed  a  living  whirlwind,  describing  circles  above 
the  garden,  around  the  trees  and  the  steeple,  skimming 
against  each  other's  beaks  as  though  to  exchange  a 
word.  This  lasted  five  minutes,  and  then  I  saw  them 
rise  very  high  and  disappear,  leaving  silence  behind 
them.  Dear  little  sisters!  They  are  sent  away  very 
far.  Their  mission  is  over  yonder,  in  Africa,  in  Aus- 
tralia. The  itinerary  of  their  course  is  traced,  per- 
haps, in  some  cell  of  their  brain ;  their  slight  bodies, 
their  nerved  wings,  possess  that  power  of  movement 
which  man  is  seeking,  but  through  the  wind  and  tem- 
pest they  are  sustained  by  another  force  still,  the  in- 
tangible, invisible  force  of  their  destiny.  They  are 
just  like  us,  and  we  are  just  like  them  in  this  particular. 
They  are  not  afraid,  because  they  are  ignorant  of  every- 
thing; we  are  afraid,  because  we  do  not  know  enough. 


TOURAINE 

Vouvray,  Touraine. 

THIS  is  the  eleventh  year  that  I  have  returned  to 
Vouvray  and  to  the  same  roof.  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  my  hosts  at  Vouvray  in  a  casual  and  droll  way. 
One  evening,  after  dinner,  I  was  seated  on  the  lounge 
of  the  Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs,  waiting  for  it  to  be 
time  to  go  to  the  Casino,  when  a  tall  gentleman  stopped 
quite  near  me  to  light  a  cigar.  A  flower-seller  who 
was  roaming  about  there,  thinking  that  we  were  to- 
gether, rushed  at  once  to  him  and,  with  the  tactics  that 
succeed  nine  times  out  of  ten,  said  — 

"  Buy  these  beautiful  roses  for  Madame ! " 

I  coloured  with  anger,  and  sharply  ordered  the  poor 

girl  to  go  away.  Monsieur  A ,  very  much  amused 

at  my  confusion,  could  not  resist  the  tantalising  pleasure 
of  increasing  it  by  purchasing  the  roses.  Then,  rais- 
ing his  hat,  he  presented  them  to  me. 

"  Madame,  I  have  no  right  to  offer  you  them,"  he 
said  in  a  good-natured  way.  "  Please  accept  them  all 
the  same,  if  only  to  help  me  out  of  a  difficulty." 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  and,  disarmed  by  the  ludi- 
crousness  of  the  situation,  I  took  the  magnificent  bunch 
of  flowers  he  was  holding  out  to  me. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Madame  A joined  her  hus- 
band, and,  finding  him  in  conversation  with  an  un- 
known woman,  gave  me  the  most  cutting  glance  I  have 

324 


TOURAINE  325 

ever  received.  I  hastened  to  explain  the  incident  to  her, 
and  it  amused  her. 

"  I  am  very  much  surprised,"  she  then  said  to  him, 
"  that  you  should  have  had  such  a  happy  idea !  " 

"  I,  too,  my  love,"  he  replied  placidly. 

The  comic  note  of  this  fragment  of  conjugal  dialogue 
struck  me  and  amused  me  inwardly.  The  conversation 
we  exchanged  afterwards  continued  to  break  the  ice 
between  us  with  surprising  rapidity,  considering  our 
respective  characters.  A  flower-seller  from  Vichy  was 
thus  the  unconscious  agent  of  our  acquaintanceship. 
Her  little  phrase,  for  which  I  had  snubbed  her,  was 
to  give  me  some  very  good  friends.  It  has  brought  me 
over  and  over  again  to  Touraine,  and  its  effect  still 
lasts.  This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  web  of  life. 

Among  the  halts  which  Providence  has  prepared  for 
me,  that  of  Vouvray  has  been  one  of  the  sweetest  and 
most  restful.  The  house  of  my  hosts  is  just  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  village.  It  is  preceded  by  a  courtyard 
which  attracts  the  gaze  of  all  the  passers-by,  as  it  is  so 
picturesque  with  its  walls  covered  with  creepers,  and 
its  borders  of  brilliant  flowers,  its  old  sycamore,  and  its 
well,  encircled  with  verdure.  When  its  iron  gates  open 
to  me  I  have  the  sensation  of  shelter  and  of  kindly  hos- 
pitality. It  is  very  agreeable  to  see  the  pleasant  faces 
of  the  servants,  to  hear  the  purr  of  welcome  from  the 
cat,  Mirette,  who  always  recognises  my  voice.  I  am 
always  delighted  to  find  myself  in  the  blue  room  with 
its  soft  bed.  The  arm-chairs  and  other  chairs  of  the 
room  have  been  embroidered  by  three  generations  of 
women.  The  house  is  charming,  sufficiently  provincial 
to  have  a  character  of  its  own,  modern  enough  to 
be  very  comfortable.  I  have  watched  with  curiosity 
the  introduction  of  the  new  spirit  and  of  more  modern 
taste  in  this  interior.  The  appearance  of  a  hundred 


326  ON  THE  BRANCH 

little  innovations  has  made  its  aspect  less  stiff,  more 
particularly  the  flowers  and  light  which  are  to  be  seen 
everywhere  now.  The  garden,  which  is  curious,  like 
all  those  here,  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  and  is 
joined  to  the  house  by  a  subterranean  passage.  It  has 
a  magnificent  thicket  of  chestnuts,  a  terrace  planted 
with  trees,  among  which  are  two  monumental  yews, 
male  and  female,  then  lower  down  a  regular  country 
priest's  garden,  with  vegetables,  fruits,  box-wood 
borders  and  simple  flowers.  I  enjoy  watching  the 
working  of  the  wheels  of  this  well-ordered  household, 
it  reminds  me  of  my  old  home. 

I  look  inside  the  cupboards  filled  with  linen,  the 
store-room  so  richly  provided  with  fruit,  the  niches 
hollowed  in  the  rock  where  the  wine  grows  old.  I  visit 
the  granaries,  even,  for  I  adore  granaries.  Often,  on 
returning  from  my  walk,  I  enter  the  beautiful  kitchen, 
brilliant  with  ripolin  and  copper,  to  say  a  word  to  Con- 
stance, the  most  amiable  of  cooks  that  I  have  ever  met. 
I  approach  the  huge  fire-place  to  see  the  wood  flaming, 
the  soup  simmering  and  the  spit  turning.  All  these 
prosaic  things  make  part  of  a  home  and  interest  me 
now.  They  have  a  certain  poetry  in  my  eyes.  They 
take  me  back  to  domestic  life,  to  my  past.  And  that 
past,  which  I  disdained  when  it  was  present,  is  ever 
uppermost  now  in  my  soul  and  is  very  sweet  to  me. 
It  seems  as  though  man  is  an  animal  which  must  turn 
round  before  he  can  see  aright. 

Vouvray. 

Porte-Joie  has  made  me  feel  more  deeply  still  the 
charm  of  this  little  country  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire. 
Vouvray  is  not  laic!  And  how  could  it  be,  under  this 
Touraine  sky  of  such  a  soft  blue,  in  this  atmosphere 
vibrating  with  light,  with  the  beautiful  Chateau  of 


TOURAINE  327 

Moncontour  ennobling  the  whole  scenery  with  its  past, 
and  with  the  generous  wine  of  its  slopes,  with  its  re- 
fined and  handsome  race  of  people?  How  picturesque  it 
is  too !  Vine-covered  rocks  hollowed  out,  bored  through 
with  doors  and  windows,  inhabited  as  in  the  olden  times, 
and  at  the  foot  rustic  houses,  elegant  villas.  Here 
one  lives  in  the  rock  and  of  the  rock.  The  mason 
and  the  architect  have  been  inspired  to  respect  the  rock 
everywhere.  Instead  of  knocking  it  down  and  levelling 
it,  they  have  made  use  of  its  ruggedness.  They  have 
created  irregular  paths,  curious  little  gardens,  goat 
steps.  This  unique  configuration  is,  I  think,  fertile  in 
surprises,  and  makes  the  walks  all  around  singularly 
interesting.  On  the  heights  it  is  not  a  rare  thing  to 
see  a  chimney  emerging  from  the  bushes;  the  vil- 
lage steeple  looks  as  though  it  were  coming  out  of 
the  ground.  From  the  garden  of  my  friends,  the 
statue  of  the  Virgin,  placed  over  the  large  door  of  the 
church,  seems  to  hover  in  the  blue  sky.  By  moonlight 
their  courtyard  has  a  fantastic  aspect.  A  number  of 
dwellings  have  rooms  and  out-buildings  in  the  rock, 
subterranean  places  which  make  cellars  worthy  of  the 
heroes  of  Rabelais,  where  the  Vouvray  wine  has  the 
silence  that  it  needs  in  order  to  grow  old  properly. 
The  aristocratic  part  of  the  village  is  on  the  heights. 
Its  street  is  bordered  on  one  side  by  white  houses,  all 
different  from  each  other,  and  by  a  pretty  church;  on 
the  other  side  by  gardens  which  go  down  in  slopes 
and  terraces  to  the  road.  I  have  never  seen  anywhere 
else  walls  that  are  so  picturesque  and  so  covered  with 
flowers.  They  give  one  an  oppressive  feeling;  there 
are  too  many  of  them.  One  feels  the  need  of  escaping 
from  them,  and  so  one  climbs  up  on  to  the  plateau. 
When  once  there  one  feels  absolutely  free.  There  is 
an  immense  horizon  and  plenty  of  fresh  air,  so  that 


328  ON  THE  BRANCH 

when  walking  through  the  beautiful  vines  one  feels  the 
gladness  of  life.  Monumental  flights  of  steps  lead  to 
the  Chateau  of  Moncontour,  a  military  stronghold  of 
the  fifteenth  century  which  stands  on  the  heights.  From 
its  towers  one  no  longer  keeps  watch  on  the  country,  but 
one  admires  it,  which  is  what  our  fathers  never  thought 
of  doing.  And  from  there  one  has  the  pathetic  sight 
of  a  dying  river  of  the  poor  Loire  choked  by  its  beautiful 
violet  sand.  It  is  never  dragged  and  is  therefore  dying 
slowly,  in  a  dignified  way,  like  a  grande  dame.  There 
is  scarcely  even  a  living  wave  for  the  sun  to  light  up  on 
the  Tours  side,  nothing  but  sombre  lagoons.  The  other 
evening  I  felt  grieved  on  noticing  this,  but  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  should  like  to  see  the  towing  boats  of  a 
Navigation  Co.  in  its  waters,  passing  in  front  of  Blois. 
Such  boats  are  more  suitable  for  the  democratic,  com- 
mercial and  industrial  Seine.  It  may  be  that  Nature  is 
of  my  opinion.  In  my  walks,  revisiting  old  haunts,  I 
never  forget  the  Cisse  bridge,  so  dear  to  Balzac,  and 
there  is  another  place  that  attracts  me  particularly,  and 
that  is  the  cemetery.  I  do  not  know  another  one  like  it. 
It  is  entirely  bathed  in  light  and  sun,  so  that  one  could 
never  be  quite  dead  there.  The  wind  has  always 
sounded  strange  to  me  there,  and  I  often  go  to  listen 
to  it. 

Fortunately  I  have  found  the  Convent  of  the  Presen- 
tation still  there.  I  was  afraid  that  this  little  poetical 
place  might  have  been  done  -away  with.  It  is  a  very 
humble  house  with  the  garden  and  school  running  down- 
hill. Leaning  over  the  wall  one  sees  the  •  sisters, 
dressed  in  black  and  white,  coming  and  going  with 
their  light  step.  One  sees,  too,  cats  that  are  curiously 
black  and  white,  as  though  the  mother  cats  had  re- 
ceived an  impression  from  the  colours  of  the  Order. 


TOURAINE  329 

The  fresh  voices  of  children  can  be  heard,  at  times, 
singing  a  canticle  or  some  old  French  song.  Yesterday, 
as  I  was  passing,  the  refrain  of  the  Chevalier  de  la  Mar- 
jolaine  brought  me  to  an  abrupt  halt.  I  repeated, 
mechanically,  the  words  of  the  pretty  song,  and  re- 
freshing tears  came  to  my  eyes. 

Vouvray,  like  the  whole  of  Touraine,  is  melancholy, 
but  there  is  a  certain  gentleness  in  its  moral  atmos- 
phere. Its  soul  is  certainly  not  laic.  Laicism  has  its 
raison  d'etre,  I  suppose,  but  it  is  neither  beautiful  nor 
congenial. 

I  have  been  here  nearly  a  fortnight,  and  have  neither 
noticed  the  hours  nor  the  days  pass  by;  I  have  not 
even  been  tempted  to  go  to  Tours.  This  provincial 
life  in  the  country  has  the  great  attraction  of  change 
to  me.  I  have  enjoyed  the  succulent  luncheons  and 
dinners  which  are  the  pride  of  my  hostess.  The  golden 
wine  of  certain  noted  years  is  brought  from  the  cellar, 
and  the  priest  contributes  his  good  humour  and  serenity 
to  these  meals,  which  are  enlivened  by  gay  and  familiar 
conversation.  We  have  played  cards  twice  a  day, 
worked,  had  tea  under  the  chestnuts,  and  chatted  a 
great  deal.  The  comic  note,  which  struck  me  at  my 
first  meeting  with  Madame  A ,  is  to  be  heard  con- 
stantly, and  also  sallies  of  wit  which  are  the  special- 
ity of  the  Thuringian  mind.  All  this  causes  me  irresist- 
ible fits  of  gaiety.  I  laugh  as  I  did  at  the  age  of 
twenty.  I  hear  myself  laughing,  and  that  seems  good  to 
me.  I  had  spoken  to  my  friends  of  my  quarrel  with 
Madame  d'Hauterive,  my  only  relative,  but  without 
telling  them  the  reason  of  it.  I  described  to  them  in 
detail  our  meeting  at  Bagnoles  and  our  reconciliation ; 
I  told  them  of  my  friendship  for  my  pseudo-god-son, 
the  way  in  which  I  had  been  led  to  make  the  acquaint- 


330  ON  THE  BRANCH 

ance  of  the  Lussons,  the  owners  of  that  "  Commanderie  " 
which  they  had  pointed  out  to  me  one  day  on  returning 
from  the  Rochefort  Chateau. 

"  It  is  quite  upsetting !  "  exclaimed  Madame  A , 

her  eyes  wide  open  with  interest. 

"  If  we  had  time  to  observe  Life  we  should  often  be 
upset,"  I  answered,  smiling. 

"  Well,  I  prefer  keeping  on  my  feet !  "  replied  my 
very  prosaic  friend,  promptly. 

Upsetting,  in  truth,  this  epilogue!  Upsetting,  this 
affection  that  I  feel  for  the  son  of  Monsieur  de  Myeres 
and  Colette!  I  wonder  what  I  should  do  now  without 
that  tall,  authoritative  young  man  coming  to  my 
rooms.  I  should  miss  him  very  much.  He  has  been 
for  a  splendid  tour  through  Dauphiny,  and  I  am  in  a 
hurry  to  hear  about  it.  He  is  at  present  at  "  Les 
Rocheilles."  In  his  letters  there  is  such  juvenile  effu- 
sion and  such  fresh  warmth  of  love  that  I  feel  it  all 
from  here.  He  is  impatient  to  come  and  join  me,  I 
feel  sure  of  that,  but  I  have  the  intuition  that  it  is 
no  longer  god-mother  alone  who  attracts  him.  So  much 
the  better,  oh,  so  much  the  better!  I  shall  never  be 
quite  a  mother  until  I  have  known  the  pain  of  sacrifice. 

Commanderie  de  Rouzwrs. 
"  A  Louis  XIII  place  patched  up  fairly  well."     This 

was  Monsieur  A 's  criticism  of  the  house  when  he 

had  first  drawn  my  attention  to  it,  little  thinking  that  a 
few  years  later  I  was  to  receive  such  kind  hospitality  in 
it.  It  was  here  that  the  Lussons  brought  me  a  week 
ago.  They  came  to  Tours  to  fetch  me,  and  I  got  out 
of  the  carriage  of  my  friends  to  get  into  theirs.  And 
what  a  warm  welcome  they  gave  me!  On  seeing  me, 
my  little  friend's  face  flushed  with  pink.  Was  it 
Madame  de  Myeres  or  Guy's  god-mother  who  produced 


TOURAINE  331 

tins  effect?  It  was  very  pretty,  anyhow.  The  "  Cora- 
manderie  "  is  about  seven  miles  from  Tours  and  half- 
an-hour  from  the  village  of  Rouziers.  It  does  not  look 
like  a  chateau,  but  there  is  a  certain  ancient  strength 
about  its  massive  architecture.  It  was  no  doubt  part  of 
a  military  benefice.  The  beautiful  ivy  covering  of  its 
right  wing,  the  bright  simple  flowers  which  surround 
it  on  every  side  soften  its  aspect.  The  park  area  is 
admirably  planted.  All  this  will  no  doubt  fall  to  the 
share  of  Josee's  half-brother,  who  married  the  daughter 
of  a  rich  Canadian  banker  last  year  and  now  lives  at 
Montreal.  The  "  Commanderie  "  has  been  "  thoroughly 
patched  up,"  and  not  only  outwardly,  as  modern  com- 
forts have  been  introduced,  with  much  art  and  respect, 
into  the  inside  of  the  house,  which  is  very  comfortable. 
The  atmosphere  of  it  is  not  only  due  to  the  old  furni- 
ture, the  beautiful  tapestries  and  family  relics.  One 
sees  signs  of  intellectual  and  manual  occupation  every- 
where, and  these  signs  are  not,  as  in  so  many  houses, 
theatrical  accessories.  Warm  wraps  are  crocheted 
with  the  balls  of  wool  from  the  basket  in  one  of  the 
window  recesses  of  the  large  drawing-room.  Em- 
broidery is  done  every  day  on  the  canvas  stretched  on 
the  tapestry  frame.  There  is  a  piano  which  is  not 
silent.  On  the  tables  are  reviews  that  are  read;  there 
is  a  library  which  is  frequented;  and  there  are  large 
fire-places  in  which  fires  are  lighted;  foliage  and  flowers 
are  arranged  by  skilful  hands.  There  is,  in  short,  real 
life  about  everything,  and  this  makes  itself  felt.  Cer- 
tain houses,  although  inhabited,  always  look  empty, 
others,  even  when  enipty,  would  look  inhabited.  That 
of  the  Lussons  is  among  this  number.  In  the  rooms 
they  have  given  me  there  is  a  beautiful  view  over  the 
park  and  the  country.  The  Randolphs  had  these  rooms 
during  their  stay  here.  My  bedroom  is  the  one  Sir 


332  ON  THE  BRANCH 

William  occupied  —  I  feel  a  melancholy  joy  in  say- 
ing to  myself  that  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts  were  at- 
tracted by  the  objects  around  me.  There  are  family 
portraits  which  parvenus  would  consign  to  the  attic, 
bulgy  chests  of  drawers,  comfortable  arm-chairs,  an 
immense  bureau,  a  Louis  XV  toilet-table  which  is  my 
delight,  a  wardrobe,  with  glass  doors,  full  of  those  old 
books  which  I  love  to  look  through.  My  bed  is  in 
an  alcove,  and  over  it  is  a  holy  water  vase  and  a  branch 
of  Easter  palm.  It  is  a  delightful  suite  of  rooms  for  a 
dowager.  In  the  little  drawing-room,  hung  with  Beau- 
vair  tapestry,  I  feel  as  though  I  am  a  person  of  import- 
ance. My  little  friend  has  ornamented  it  with  roses 
and  chrysanthemums.  Madame  de  Lusson  informed 
me  that  she  had  constituted  herself  my  hostess,  and  I 
could  see  that  by  her  glance  all  round  the  room  to  be 
quite  sure  that  nothing  is  wanting. 

As  soon  as  I  arrived,  I  wanted  to  see  Josee's  boys. 
She  took  me  to  "  The  Cottage,"  as  their  little  home  is 
called.  "  The  Cottage  "  is  one  of  the  out-buildings  of 
the  farm.  A  long,  low  house  between  an  orchard  and 
a  kitchen  garden.  A  Canadian  vine  climbs  right  up 
to  its  attics.  Its  little  windows  have  curtains  with  red 
and  white  stripes,  and  are  all  decorated  with  plants. 
Two  cats  were  attending  to  their  toilet  on  rustic 
benches  placed  on  either  side  of  the  door;  a  large 
sheep-dog  was  lying  down  on  the  threshold.  It  all 
had  a  warm,  gay  look.  A  queen,  such' as  the  Queen  of 
England,  would  en j  oy  staying  there ! 

Miss  Jones  came  to  meet  us  and  was  introduced  to 
me.  Her  faded,  fair  hair,  her  ruddy  complexion,  to- 
gether with  her  freckles  and  a  turn-up  nose,  give  her 
an  ugliness  that  is  thoroughly  Saxon;  but  her  ex- 
tremely kind-looking  blue  eyes,  her  cheery  expression, 
make  her  quite  attractive.  She  has  been  a  sort  of 


TOURAINE  333 

governess  to  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson.  When,  two  years 
ago,  her  pupil  gave  herself  a  little  family,  she  asked 
to  be  allowed  to  take  charge  of  it,  and  courageously 
exiled  herself  in  the  country.  A  former  nun,  who 
belonged  to  one  of  the  congregations  under  the  ban 
of  the  French  government  acts  as  servant,  and  does 
the  work  of  ten  persons. 

The  interior  of  "  The  Cottage  "  delighted  me.  There 
are  no  steps,  and  one  enters  a  room  lighted  by  two 
windows,  the  brick  floor  is  covered  with  mats,  and 
there  is  a  wooden  staircase  leading  to  the  first  floor. 
In  this  kind  of  hall  the  children  take  their  meals,  study 
and  play.  It  is  furnished  with  a  large  table,  a  dozen 
chairs  and  two  straw  arm-chairs.  Some  cupboards  con- 
tain the  books  and  the  playthings,  a  large  clock  strikes 
the  hours,  and  a  stove  warms  it  in  winter.  Parallel 
with  this  room,  and  looking  on  the  garden,  is  a  light, 
cheerful  kitchen,  and  adjoining  it  the  wash-house  con- 
taining a  bath.  Each  of  the  children's  rooms  has  two 
little  beds,  two  chests  of  drawers  surmounted  with  a 
looking-glass,  two  desks  and  two  chairs.  The  general 
wash-stand  is  provided  with  everything  necessary. 
Miss  Jones  has  very  pretty  rooms,  a  study  down-stairs, 
and  up-stairs  a  comfortable  bedroom.  Madame  de 
Lusson  has  arranged  an  extra  room  for  her,  so  that  she 
can  invite  a  friend.  Amidst  all  this  simplicity  one 
recognizes  Josee's  taste.  The  china  on  the  sideboard, 
although  common,  is  pretty.  On  the  enamel-painted 
walls  of  a  delicate  shade,  there  are  engravings  and  pic- 
tures, pinned  on  under  bands  of  Turkey-red  twill;  some 
rough  pottery  vases  contain  flowers  and  leaves.  In  the 
little  house  there  is  order  and  movement.  Order  without 
movement  is  icy  cold.  Open  books,  chairs  in  harness, 
a  hundred  odd  things  tell  that  children  are  there.  The 
old  furniture,  brought  down  from  the  attics  of  the 


334  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Commanderie,"  ,gives  to  the  whole  a  home-like  look. 
The  children  were  at  the  end  of  the  kitchen  garden. 
Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  put  the  silver  whistle,  which 
she  wears  as  a  charm,  to  her  lips.  When  they  all  came 
running  to  her,  calling  out  "  God-mother,  god-mother," 
she  turned  to  me,  saying,  with  a  blushing  smile  — 

"  You  see  I  am  a  god-mother,  too !  " 

Her  boys  rushed  to  her  and  kissed  her  hands,  then, 
on  seeing  me,  they  were  disconcerted  for  a  moment.  I 
said  a  few  words  to  them,  and  their  little  faces  bright- 
ened again. 

The  two  eldest  are  eight  and  nine  years  old,  the 
younger  ones  six  and  seven.  One  of  them  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  little  box,  opened  it  as  though  it  contained 
something  precious,  and  said,  presenting  it  to  the  young 
girl  — 

"  God-mother,  this  is  my  tooth,  I  drew  it  out  myself." 

"  That's  right!     Show  me  your  mouth." 

The  child  obeyed. 

Josee  examined  the  child's  gums  carefully. 

"  The  other  is  there  already,"  she  said.  "  And  so  you 
are  giving  me  this  one?  ' 

"  Yes,  and  all  the  others." 

The  god-mother,  touched  by  this,  pressed  the  child's 
brown  head  against  her. 

The  frank,  open  faces  of  the  four  little  urchins  re- 
assured me.  Cleanliness  is  in  itself  such  elegance  that 
they  look  as  though  they  belong  to  a  higher  class  of 
Society.  I  said  this  to  my  young  friend. 

"  The  two  eldest  ones  were  covered  with  vermin  when 
I  took  them,"  she  said ;  "  now  they  have  a  horror  of 
dirt.  A  few  days  ago  Miss  Jones  heard  piercing  cries. 
She  ran  out  and  found  Paul  washing  the  farmer's 
daughter  by  force  at  the  pump." 

"  And  they  have  no  parents  ?  " 


\ 

TOURAINE  335 

"  No.  Father  made  me  promise  only  to  adopt  chil- 
dren with  no  family.  Now  that  I  love  them  I  shudder 
to  think  of  the  fate  they  might  have  had.  Poor  little 
creatures !  They  look  happy,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Happy !  They  beam  with  health  and  contentment," 
I  answered  in  all  sincerity. 

During  this  visit  I  observed  my  little  friend  closely, 
but  could  not  detect  in  her  the  slightest  shade  of  affec- 
tation or  of  posing.  Nothing,  I  am  convinced,  would 
make  her  give  up  her  boys.  She  feels  maternal  pleasure 
in  seeing  them  well,  in  bringing  them  up ;  she  tries 
to  find  out  their  aptitudes ;  she  thinks  of  their  future. 
This  is  something  that  will  keep  a  girl's  heart  pure 
and  warm. 

Country  life  is  thoroughly  understood  at  the  "  Com- 
manderie."  All  morning,  hosts  and  guests  are  entirely 
free.  Luncheon  is  at  eleven,  tea  at  four  and  dinner  at 
eight.  This  gives  long  afternoons  for  bridge,  conver- 
sation, walks  and  drives.  There  are  many  country 
houses  in  the  environs,  and  automobiles  bring  visitors 
every  day.  If  my  fate  hal  not  been  such  a  tragic  one, 
I  should  have  had,  at  Chavigny,  a  similar  existence  to 
that  of  Madame  de  Lusson.  I  should,  like  her,  have 
had  a  well-sheltered  home.  This  idea  crossed  my  mind 
this  morning  while  I  was  reading  my  Figaro  under  a 
tree  in  the  park.  The  paper  fell  from  my  hands  and, 
in  the  deep  peace  which  surrounded  me,  I  meditated 
for  a  long  time.  At  Chavigny,  Jean  Noel  would  not 
have  been  born  —  Jean  Noel,  the  companion  of  my  old 
age !  Providence  took  a  great  deal  from  me ;  it  gave 
me  still  more,  though,  I  think. 

Comjnanderie  de  Rouziers. 

I  have  driven  to  Tours,  and  have  come  back  with  an 
uneasy  feeling  which  I  hope  will  prove  unfounded. 


336  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Saturday  is  the  day  for  Tours ;  the  residents  of  the 
environs  meet  there  on  that  day.  The  streets  are  lined 
with  brakes,  phsetons,  elegant  carriages  and  automo- 
biles. Madame  de  Lusson  goes  regularly  and  receives 
her  friends  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Univers,  where  she  rents 
a  drawing-room.  Just  before  tea-time  I  went  out  to 
buy  some  toys  for  Josee's  boys,  and  I  walked  about  in 
the  silent  parts  of  the  town  which  I  specially  love.  In 
spite  of  its  provincial  spirit,  its  uncompromising  bigots, 
the  number  of  priests  and  nuns  one  meets  there,  Tours 
is  not  unpleasant.  It  is  an  aristocratic  town,  and  hos- 
pitable. It  has  retained  much  of  its  light  and  gallant 
soul  of  former  days.  The  eyes  of  the  women,  generally 
brown  or  black,  have  a  light  in  them  which  is  gay  and 
provoking;  there  is  a  refined  boldness  in  those  of  the 
men.  They  must  be  generous  here,  both  with  their  love 
and  money.  I  was  careful  not  to  miss  Madame  de  Lus- 
son's  reception.  When  I  arrived,  there  were  already 
about  fifteen  persons  there,  substantial  dowagers  dressed 
in  black  trimmed  with  jet.  They  wore  strings  to  their 
bonnets ;  their  dull  yellow  complexions  revealed  their 
faulty  hygiene;  there  were  a  few  very  pretty  women, 
well  dressed,  but  without  any  natural  elegance.  There 
were  marriageable  girls,  too,  stiff  and  awkward,  and 
there  were  officers  and  country  gentlemen.  I  once 
more  had  the  opportunity  of  admiring  the  play  of  those 
general  ideas  which  are  the  specialty  of  our  race.  The 
women  who  were  there  had  no  great  culture;  they 
probably  read  very  little;  their  minds  appeared  to  have 
run  aground  on  a  sand-bank,  like  the  Loire;  and  yet 
they  found  something  with  which  to  aliment  the  con- 
versation. The  gossip  was  well  told,  in  choice  language 
seasoned  with  fine  salt.  Whilst  listening  to  this  con- 
versation, I  realised  how  useful  and  agreeable  pro- 
vincial life  in  France  might  be  if  prejudice  and  igno- 


TOURAINE  337 

ranee  did  not  render  it  stagnant,  and  then  I  said  to 
myself  that  Providence  will  surely  use  the  drag  for  these 
intellects  in  its  own  good  time.  They  form,  perhaps, 
the  counter-balance  necessary,  for  our  nation,  to  the 
movement  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Things." 

The  widow  of  a  general,  who  had  amused  me  by  her 
sallies,  began  to  talk  of  her  son-in-law  in  eulogistic 
terms. 

"  If  sons-in-law  were  elected  every  seven  years,  like 
the  President  of  the  Republic,"  she  added,  "  I  should 
choose  Robert  again." 

This  assertion  of  maternal  authority  gave  me  a  start. 

"  Your  daughter  would  have  a  voice  in  the  matter 
this  time,  I  suppose,"  said  a  little  woman  with  a  mis- 
chievous face. 

"  My  daughter ! "  repeated  the  General's  wife,  as 
though  she  had  forgotten  that  factor ;  "  oh,  she  has 
always  done  as  I  wish.  It  has  suited  her  very  well,  too, 
for  she  is  perfectly  happy." 

I  caught  a  flash  in  my  little  friend's  eyes.  Evidently 
she  would  not  have  suffered  any  one  to  dispose  of  her 
fate  in  this  way.  This  reflection  made  me  notice  how 
much  the  foreign  element  within  her  came  out  among 
these  provincial  women.  In  her  words,  in  her  manner 
there  was  marked  individuality.  She  appeared  to  be  in 
full  possession  of  the  liberty  of  speaking  and  thinking, 
but  she  did  not  abuse  that  liberty.  The  guests  were 
profuse  in  their  friendly  overtures  to  the  heiress,  but 
there  was  a  certain  mistrust  perceptible.  They  watched 
her  move  about  in  the  room,  they  were  observing  and 
criticising  her  to  themselves.  She  began  to  pour  the 
tea  and  chocolate.  A  very  handsome  young  lieutenant 
was  eager  to  help  her  in  the  passing  of  cups  and  cakes. 
I  soon  began  to  feel  very  anxious  as  though  the  general 
impression  had  communicated  itself  to  me.  I  was  sure 


338  ON  THE  BRANCH 

that  there  was  marriage  in  the  air.  Josee  seemed  to  me 
embarrassed;  the  mother  of  the  young  man  was  talking 
to  her  in  an  affectionate  and  familiar  way.  I  wondered 
if  I  were  on  the  wrong  track,  and  this  thought  gave  me 
a  terrible  pang.  I  was  in  a  hurry  for  the  reception  to 
come  to  an  end,  so  that  I  might  indirectly  confess  the 
young  girl.  As  soon  as  we  were  in  the  carriage,  Josee 
said  to  me  in  an  indignant  way  — 

"  Did  you  hear  that  odious  woman  ?  She  married 
her  daughter,  in  order  to  keep  her  near  to  herself,  to 
a  neighbour,  a  good  sort  of  man,  well  educated,  but  as 
dull  as  ditch-water." 

"  Oh,  there  are  still  some  girls  who  allow  themselves 
to  be  married  by  their  parents,"  said  Madame  de  Lusson, 
trying  to  put  on  a  severe  air. 

"  And  there  are  some  parents  who  are  not  selfish," 
answered  my  little  friend,  raising  her  mother's  hand  to 
her  lips. 

This  reassured  me  for  an  instant,  then  the  remem- 
brance of  the  handsome  lieutenant  came  to  my  mind 
to  disquiet  me.  I  recalled  the  way  in  which  every  one 
had  watched  the  two  young  people  and  I  was  sure  that 
every  one  had  decided  on  their  marriage. 

Before  going  to  bed  Josee  comes  to  pay  me  a  little 
visit  in  my  room.  She  arrives  in  her  nightdress  and 
dressing-gown,  her  bare  feet  in  pretty  sandals.  She 
sits  down  on  a  low  chair,  or  on  the  ground  before  the 
fire-place,  where  my  wood  fire  is  burning,  and  talks  to 
me. 

Out  of  loyalty  to  my  hosts,  I  always  scrupulously 
avoid  talking  of  my  god-son,  but  Josee  always  finds  a 
way  of  mentioning  his  name,  of  bringing  him  forward. 
She  has  to  go  an  immense  way  round  sometimes,  and 
I  laugh  slyly  at  her  skill.  This  evening  she  spoke  to 
me  of  our  automobile  drive  to  the  Dent  du  Chat. 


TOURAINE  339 

"  By  the  bye,"  I  asked  her,  "  who  is  the  young  man 
who  helped  you  with  the  tea  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Count  Morziers,  mamma's  candidate,"  she  answered, 
shaking  her  beautiful  mane  with  a  gesture  of  re- 
volt. 

"  But  he  is  very  nice,"  I  said,  wickedly. 

At  this  unexpected  approbation  from  me,  an  appro- 
bation which  seemed  to  put  Guy  out  of  the  question, 
her  face  darkened  instantaneously.  I  have  never  seen 
a  face  on  which  unhappiness  is  so  visible,  it  covers  it 
like  a  cloud.  She  fixed  her  grey  eyes  on  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  astonishment,  then  looking  at  the  flame  in 
the  fire,  she  said  — 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  nice ;  he  is  the  best  match  in  the 
whole  country  even.  Unfortunately,  he  is  too  fond  of 
his  profession  as  a  soldier  to  give  it  up,  and  I  will  never 
consent  to  live  in  a  moving  camp.  I  want  a  fixed  home." 

This  time  my  fears  vanished.  I  felt  remorseful  for 
having  caused  a  doubt  that  was  painful  in  my  little 
friend's  heart.  I  noticed  that  a  sudden  discouragement 
seemed  to  have  taken  the  life  out  of  her.  Conversation 
dragged,  and  in  her  "  good-night  "  I  felt  a  shade  of  cold- 
ness. I  patted  her  shoulder  in  a  friendly  way  and 
said  — 

"  Let  us  hope  that  Providence  will  send  us  what  we 
both  desire,  a  good  master  for  Chavigny." 

"  Yes,  let  us  hope  so,"  she  said  gravely. 

Commanderie  de  Rouziers. 

And  whilst  I  was  feeling  so  anxious,  my  candidate 
arrived  with  all  the  speed  of  his  fifteen  horse-power. 
This  afternoon  he  dropped  down  upon  us  like  a  veri- 
table thunderbolt.  My  hosts  were  paying  a  round  of 
visits.  I  was  with  Josee  at  "  The  Cottage."  Whilt 
waiting  for  the  tea  and  scones,  which  Miss  Jones  was 


340  ON  THE  BRANCH 

preparing  for  us,  my  little  friend  was  playing  quoits 
with  her  two  elder  boys.  Lying  back  in  a  garden  arm- 
chair, with  a  cat  on  my  knees,  I  was  watching  the  gos- 
samer threads  floating  in  the  air,  and  wondering  for  the 
hundreth  time  from  whence  they  came.  The  weather 
was  specially  fine,  the  atmosphere  transparent  as  in  the 
early  days  of  autumn,  and  all  around  us  was  something 
of  a  dominical  peace.  All  at  once  Top,  the  watch-dog, 
and  the  two  fox-terriers,  burst  into  furious  barks,'  and 
rushed  towards  the  end  of  the  orchard  as  though  they 
were  possessed. 

"  A  visitor,"  I  said. 

Josee  turned  around,  and,  to  our  stupefaction,  we 
saw  Guy  in  the  midst  of  the  three  barking,  jumping, 
protesting  dogs.  The  cat  jumped  down  and  put  her 
back  up.  I  rose,  and  before  I  knew  where  I  was  my 
god-son  had  kissed  me. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from  ?  "  I  exclaimed  at 
last. 

"  Out  of  my  auto,  god-mother,  and  from  Tours." 

With  this  reply,  uttered  in  an  easy  way,  he  approached 
Mademoiselle  de  Lusson.  Their  eyes  met,  they  shook 
hands,  their  faces  were  touched  by  invisible  light.  That 
lasted  a  second,  enough  to  edify  me.  Jean  Noel  caught 
the  whole  picture  —  the  sunny  cottage,  Miss  Jones 
coming  forward,  a  teapot  in  one  hand,  a  plate  of  hot 
cakes  in  the  other,  the  table  set  under  a  bower  and  deco- 
rated with  flowers,  the  children,  and  then  the  dogs  scent- 
ing the  visitor,  Josee  standing  up  in  the  foreground, 
nervously  stroking  the  head  of  one  of  her  boys,  and 
looking  most  charming  in  her  short  dress  of  grey  cloth, 
woven  in  Tuscany,  her  well-cut  jacket,  her  chemisette  of 
cream  silk,  her  hat  of  soft  felt  with  a  wide  brim.  Truly 
Providence  frames  its  personages  well,  but  we  take  no 
notice  of  this. 


TOURAINE  341 

"  Will  you  explain  to  me,"  I  said  to  Guy,  "  how  it  is 
that  you  are  in  Touraine  on  the  tenth  of  October  when 
you  were  not  to  come  before  the  twenty-fifth  ?  " 

"  I  know ;  but  I*  could  not  wait  until  the  twenty-fifth, 
that's  all." 

"  A  fine  reason,"  I  said,  partially  disarmed. 

"  The  real  one,"  replied  my  boy,  tranquilly. 

"  Where  have  you  left  your  automobile? "  asked 
Josee,  who  had  recovered  from  her  emotion. 

"  At  the  '  Commanderie.'  They  told  me  that  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  de  Lusson  were  out  driving,  and  they 
also  told  me  where  I  should  find  you." 

"  It  would  have  served  you  right  if  we  had  been 
absent,  too,"  I  said. 

"  As  hostess,  I  protest,"  said  my  little  friend,  gaily. 
"  I  am  delighted  to  be  able  to  offer  a  cup  of  tea  to 
Monsieur  d'Hauterive." 

"  One  would  think  that  he  had  been  attracted  by  the 
smell  of  the  scones,  which  he  used  to  eat  so  eagerly  in 
the  tea-rooms  at  Aix-les-Bains,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  I  have  certainly  been  attracted  by  something,"  re- 
plied the  young  man  audaciously,  "  for  I  have  driven 
nearly  all  the  time  at  the  maximum  rate." 

By  what  process  these  simple  words  brought  a  shade 
of  deep  pink  to  Josee's  face,  I  do  not  know;  that  is 
Nature's  secret! 

How  the  presence  of  a  man  fills  a  place!  There 
seemed  to  be  ten  times  more  life  and  gaiety  now  than 
before.  My  little  friend  had  never  appeared  so  attract- 
ive to  me.  The  simplicity  of  her  English  costume  gave 
her  a  charming  ease  of  manner.  The  brim  of  her  hat 
turning  up  in  front,  a  la  Polaire,  showed  her  forehead 
and  the  irreproachable  line  of  the  golden  hair  right  to 
the  roots.  I  caught  the  scared  look  of  Miss  Jones, 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two  young  people. 


342  ON  THE  BRANCH 

That  look  made  me  suddenly  feel  the  indiscretion  of  this 
unexpected  arrival  of  my  god-son.  I  wondered  what  the 
Lussons  would  think  of  it.  Just  at  that  moment  we 
heard  the  sound  of  a  carriage. 

"  Papa  and  mamma !  "  exclaimed  Josee.  "  They,  too, 
have  smelt  the  scones.  Quick,  some  fresh  tea,  Miss 
Jones !  " 

I  rose  promptly  and,  accompanied  by  Guy,  went  to 
meet  my  hosts.  With  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  they 
held  out  their  hands  to  him  cordially.  In  their  ex- 
tremely kind  welcome  there  was  a  shade  of  embarrass- 
ment which  did  not  escape  me.  That  irritated  me  with 
the  culprit. 

"  You  have  not  come  to  fetch  your  god-mother,  I 
hope,"  said  Madame  de  Lusson.  "  She  belongs  to  us 
until  the  end  of  the  month,  and  we  shall  not  let  her 
off  a  single  day  earlier." 

"  She  would  not  let  herself  be  taken  away,"  answered 
Guy.  "  I  shall  await  her  good  pleasure.  I  have  friends 
in  garrison  at  Tours  and  at  Orleans,  and  an  estate  to 
visit  in  Sologne,  so  all  that  will  fill  up  my  time." 

"  You  might  have  passed  the  time  at  *  Les  Ho- 
cheilles,'  "  I  said,  rather  dryly. 

"  And  to  think  that  I  have  come  at  thirty-seven  an 
hour  to  hear  that !  " 

The  distressed  expression  of  my  god-son  seemed  to 
us  irresistibly  droll.  The  gaiety  it  caused  put  us  all  at 
ease. 

After  tea,  Guy  asked  Miss  Jones  to  let  him  visit  "  The 
Cottage."  He  came  out  afterwards  visibly  touched  by 
what  he  had  seen,  but  he  at  once  hid  this  with  a  jest. 

"  Have  you  never  been  afraid  that  your  daughter 
would  join  the  Salvation  Army?"  he  asked  Monsieur 
de  Lusson. 

"  You   mean   that   as   a   joke,"   answered   the   latter, 


TOURAINE  343 

smiling ;  "  but  last  year  I  really  had  to  go  with  her 
several  times  to  the  Rue  Auber,  and  to  the  lectures  of  a 
French  Salvationist.  She  was  thoroughly  taken  up 
with  the  work.  It  required  nothing  less  than  the  ugli- 
ness of  the  costume  for  reassuring  me.  I  knew  that  she 
would  shrink  at  the  bonnet." 

Josee  coloured,  and  then  her  face  became  grave. 

"  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  be  afraid ;  I  am  simply 
incapable  of  the  self-sacrifice  that  such  a  life  demands," 
she  said. 

"  Heaven  be  praised !  "  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Lus- 
son,  with  comic  fervour. 

"  I  have  been  int£>  several  of  the  homes  of  the  men 
and  women  officers  of  the  Salvation  Army,"  continued 
Josee.  "  They  are  very  poor  and  very  touching.  At 
any  minute  the  husband  and  wife  must  be  ready  to 
take  help  here  or  there.  In  reality,  the  Salvationists 
are  true  rescuers.  Only  think  that  they  have  found  the 
way  to  bring  back  the  most  fallen  creature  to  a  social 
existence.  In  their  ranks  that  creature  may  become 
some  one,  and  some  one  very  great,  even.  That  Army 
incarnates  the  force  of  good ;  we  ought  to  help  it  as  much 
as  possible  in  its  struggle  against  evil." 

"  You  see,"  said  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  in  a  mocking 
way,  "  my  daughter  goes  in  for  preaching  without  the 
bonnet ! " 

Josee  put  her  arm  through  her  father's. 

"  You  would  get  what  you  deserved  if  I  accepted  the 
bonnet ! " 

Upon  this  we  said  good-bye  to  Miss  Jones  and  went 
towards  the  "  Commanderie."  Guy  admired  the  old 
house,  the  park  and  its  century-old  cedars  very  much. 
My  hosts  did  not  fail  to  invite  him  to  luncheon  for  the 
next  day.  Under  pretext  of  showing  him  my  beautiful 
rooms,  I  took  him  away  with  me. 


344  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  You  know  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  stay  at  Tours," 
I  said,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut.  "  You  must  go 
and  wait  for  me  at  Saumur;  or  at  Orleans,  if  you  like." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  false  air  of  innocence. 

"  Because  the  Lussons,  who  are  hospitality  itself, 
would  think  themselves  obliged  to  give  you  free  entrance 
to  their  house,  and  they  have  a  daughter.  If  people  see 
you  coming  here  half-a-dozen  times  they  will  imagine 
that  you  have  intentions." 

My  god-son's  face  lighted  up  with  joy  and  mischief. 

"  But  that  is  just  it;  I  have  intentions,"  he  said. 

"  Ah !  "  I  exclaimed,  thunderstruck. 

He  put  his  arm  around  my  shoulders  —  another  of 
my  husband's  ways  —  made  me  sit  down  on  a  little  sofa, 
and  then  said,  with  a  serious  face  — 

"  God-mother,  scarcely  six  months  ago  you  saw  me 
nearly  dying  through  a  woman's  treachery.  What  shall 
you  think  of  me  to-day  if  I  tell  you  that  I  am  in  love 
with  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson.  Shall  you  not  think 
badly  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  life  too  well  for  that,"  I  replied,  sincerely. 
"  Madame  de  Mauriones  was  the  physical  passion  of 
your  youth." 

Guy  rose 

"  No,  god-mother ;  it  was  a  deeper  feeling  than  that." 

The  loyalty  of  the  young  man  towards  his  first  love 
pleased  me  infinitely. 

"  And  I  am  astonished,"  he  continued,  "  at  being  able 
to  love  again." 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Ah,  how  good  it  is,  this  warmth  and  this  light ! 
When  they  came  back  to  me  I  could  not  believe  my 
senses." 

"  And  when  did  they  come  back  ?  "  I  asked,  with  a 


TOURAINE  345 

* 

smile.  He  returned  to  the  sofa,  and  said,  putting  his 
right  arm  around  me  — 

"When?  After  my  departure  from  Aix-les-Bains. 
As  soon  as  I  was  alone  I  suddenly  missed  the  blue-grey 
eyes  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson,  her  Irish  eyes,  as  you 
call  them.  I  wanted  them  to  see  the  landscapes  which  I 
saw.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  eyes  were  no  longer 
enough  for  admiring  and  looking.  Wasn't  that  cu- 
rious ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  curious,"  I  said  in  a  mocking  tone.  "  It 
was  no  longer  the  society  of  god-mother  that  you  needed, 
was  it?" 

"  You  are  not  jealous,  I  hope!  You  know  very  well 
how  much  I  love  you." 

"  Oh  yes ;  please  continue." 

"  Without  my  having  any  idea  of  it,  her  face  seemed 
to  have  stamped  itself  on  my  memory.  She  appeared 
to  me  so  full  of  life  and  so  attractive.  At  *  Les  Ro- 
cheilles  '  I  did  nothing  but  live  again  that  last  week  at 
Aix-les-Bains.  I  remembered  all  her  words,  her  slightest 
gestures.  The  wish  to  see  her  again  became  irresistible; 
I  put  my  machine  under  pressure,  and  turned  the  wheel 
towards  her.  Ah,  god-mother,  you  cannot  imagine  what 
one  feels,  rushing  through  space,  at  the  rate  of  thirty- 
seven  an  hour,  to  reach  the  woman  one  loves.  A  twen- 
tieth-century sensation,  that,  and  divine,  I  can  assure 
you." 

"  Ah,  now  I  am  well  up  as  to  the  impressions  of  an 
automobilist  in  love.  Jean  Noel  thanks  you,  my  dear 
boy,"  I  said,  with  a  smile. 

Guy  walked  up  and  down  the  room  several  times,  and 
then,  sitting  down  once  more,  he  again  put  his  arm 
around  my  shoulder  and  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  emo- 
tion — 


346  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  give  her  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  From  the  first  moment  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Lusson  liked  you.  Your  name  and  your 
fortune  cannot  fail  to  satisfy  them." 

"  And  what  about  her?  You  talk  to  her  a  great  deal ; 
I  am  sure  that  you  read  her  like  a  book.  Tell 
me  —  " 

"  Not  a  word.  That  would  be  treason.  Besides,  I  am 
sure  you  know  perfectly  well  what  to  count  on  with  re- 
gard to  her  sentiments." 

My  god-son  coloured. 

"  I  have  only  my  intuition ;  I  want  more  than  that. 
To-morrow  I  shall  know." 

"  If  she  is  destined  for  you,  you  may  consider  yourself 
fortunate.  She  is  the  most  wholesome  and  the  most 
delightful  creature  I  have  ever  met." 

"  If  she  were  not  destined  for  me  it  would  be  an 
abominable  snare.  I  have  had  my  share  of  bad  luck, 
you  know,  and  that  rather  reassures  me." 

I  rose,  and  Guy  did  the  same. 

"  What  nice  rooms  you  have ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking 
round  him.  "  Oh,  what  dear  old  furniture,  what  soft 
colouring !  Are  you  not  better  off  in  a  house  so  private 
and  snug  than  you  are  at  the  hotel?  You  shall  not  stay 
any  longer  '  on  the  branch,'  as  you  call  it ;  you  shall 
have  my  bachelor  flat.  It's  no  encumbrance,  a  bachelor's 
flat.  You  will  be  able  to  have  the  illusion  of  liberty 
there." 

"  That's  enough,"  I  said  nervously ;  "  do  not  let  us 
make  plans,  it  brings  bad  luck,  and  you  must  go  now. 
Luncheon  is  at  eleven,  remember;  do  not  come  at  nine." 

"  I  will  try  not  to." 

I  stood  still,  in  the  middle  of  the  little  drawing-room, 
and  shivered  from  head  to  foot  with  a  sensation  of 
shadow  and  solitude.  Mechanically  I  went  nearer  to 


TOURAINE  347 

the  fire  and  held  out  my  hands  to  it.     Its  flame  did  not 
warm  me.     It  was  my  heart,  I  think,  that  was  cold. 

Commanderie  de  Rouziers. 

Well,  the  sacrifice  is  made!  The  Lussons  have  given 
Josee  away,  I  have  given  my  god-son  away,  and  we  have 
not  yet  recovered  from  our  surprise.  When  the  moment 
of  decisive  action  arrives,  either  we  have  been  prepared 
for  it  unawares,  or  we  are  completely  dominated  by  the 
higher  forces;  all  resistance,  all  will  power,  is  annihi- 
lated; the  words,  even,  which  we  pronounce  seem  to  be 
prompted.  We  are  caught  up  in  a  sort  of  whirlwind, 
and  then  the  whirlwind  is  lived  through,  the  fact  accom- 
plished, consciousness  comes  back  to  us,  and  with  it  either 
joy  or  sorrow.  This  phenomenon  has  just  happened 
for  us.  It  has  left  me  with  an  inward  trembling  which 
only  my  pen  can  calm.  The  greatest  events  appear  so 
small  when  reduced  to  the  condition  of  copy. 

Yesterday  morning  my  god-son  arrived  earlier  than  he 
ought  to  have  done,  in  the  hope  of  waylaying  Madame 
de  Lusson,  but  without  succeeding  in  this.  Two  neigh- 
bours had  been  invited  to  luncheon.  In  spite  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  strangers,  and  the  extremely  animated  con- 
versation, I  distinctly  felt  the  magnetic  current  which 
existed  between  the  two  young  people.  My  feeble  or- 
gans were  incapable  of  distinguishing  its  waves,  but 
I  saw  its  effects.  The  great  Invisible  had  put  a  warm 
light  into  Guy's  eyes  and  made  the  blue  of  the  pupils 
deeper;  it  had  tinted  with  pink  my  little  friend's  cheeks 
and  given  to  her  voice  joyous  notes  full  of  'deep  feeling. 
All  the  time  I  had  the  impression  that  it  was  acting 
outwardly.  Love,  considered  thus,  as  an  agent  of  Na- 
ture, seems  to  be  more  powerful,  more  divine  than  ever. 

An  excursion  was  arranged  for  the  afternoon  to  Pool 
Farm,  a  model  farm  which  belongs  to  a  cousin  of  Mon- 


348  ON  THE  BRANCH 

sieur  de  Lusson.  The  four  men  started  by  automobile. 
I  said  to  myself  that  that  would  delay  Guy's  affair,  and  I 
was  glad  of  it  —  yes,  really  glad,  though  I  cannot  under- 
stand exactly  why.  Directly  after  tea  I  went  up  to  my 
room  to  write  a  few  urgent  letters.  When  I  had  finished 
I  went  to  the  window,  and  started  with  surprise  on  see- 
ing Guy  and  Josee  walking  slowly  up  and  down  the  lawn. 
I  saw  them  stop,  all  at  once,  under  a  rose-bush  and  the 
old  cedar,  which  the  Lussons  have  named  "  Grandfather." 
My  god-son  took  his  hat  off  slowly  with  his  left  hand,  and 
stood  bare-headed  before  the  young  girl.  In  this  tableau 
viuant  I  felt  the  presence  of  love  just  as  one  feels  prayer 
in  Millet's  "  Angelus."  The  sight  of  this  youthful  hap- 
piness caused  me  neither  regret  nor  envy.  I  had,  at 
that  moment,  the  impression  that  I  was  on  a  summit,  that 
I  was  very  high  up  indeed,  very  far  away,  and,  quite 
proud  of  my  serenity,  I  moved  away  discreetly.  Scarce- 
ly a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  by  when  I  heard  a 
joyous  knock  at  my  door.  Guy  came  in  like  a  whirl- 
wind, clasped  me  in  his  arms,  which  were  still  trembling, 
and  said  — 

"  God-mother,  god-mother,  she  loves  me !  " 

I  disengaged  myself  from  his  hug. 

"  That  is  no  reason  for  suffocating  me,"  I  said,  trying 
to  get  my  breath  again. 

"  Oh  forgive  me,  I  am  so  happy." 

He  threw  himself  down  into  an  armchair,  and  I  re- 
mained standing  by  the  mantel-shelf. 

'"  Then  she  told  you  that  she  loved  you?  " 

"  No,  I  felt  it ;  that  was  very  much  better !  Just  now, 
when  we  were  strolling  in  the  park,  I  told  her  of  my 
intention  to  go  to  Saumur.  She  did  not  flinch,  but  if 
you  had  seen  how  her  face  clouded  over !  I  should  never 
have  imagined  that  a  poor  little  word  of  mine  could  have 
such  an  effect.  '  It  is  god-mother  who  is  sending  me 


TOURAINE  349 

away,'  I  added  at  once.  '  She  declares  that  if  I  stay  at 
Tours  I  should  be  at  the  "  Commanderie  "  all  the  time, 
and  that  that  would  never  do,  unless  I  had  the  right  to 
come  here.' ' 

"  God-mother  was  very  useful  to  you,  I  see !  " 

"  Very  useful,"  replied  my  boy,  with  a  wink.  "  Made- 
moiselle de  Lusson  understood,  and  her  face  lighted  up 
again.  I  told  her  that  I  had  the  greatest  wish  to  secure 
that  right,  but  that  before  asking  for  it  I  wanted  to  have 
her  permission.  Then  she  stopped,  turned  towards  me 
an  instant,  and  said,  with  a  pretty,  grave  look,  '  Should 
you  be  very  unhappy  if  I  refused  you  this  permission  ?  ' 
You  can  guess  my  reply.  '  Well,  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  unhappy;  Madame  de  Myeres  would  never  forgive 
me ! '  she  said.  Those  were  her  exact  words." 

"  The  little  hypocrite !  "  I  exclaimed,  amused. 

"  At  those  words,  I  was  tempted  to  do  like  the  lovers 
in  English  novels,  take  her  in  my  arms  and  give  her  a 
kiss,  but  my  Latin  education  held  me  back,  and  I  simply 
took  off  my  hat." 

"  Your  declaration  scene  was  very  cleverly  arranged. 
Jean  Noel  presents  his  compliments  to  you." 

"  Well,  I  can  scarcely  believe  myself  to  have  been  the 
author  of  it.  Fancy,  I  never  said  anything  that  I  had 
prepared.  The  conversation  began  in  quite  a  different 
manner.  I  heard  my  own  words.  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  is  the  influence  of  your  ideas,  but  for  the  first 
time  I  had  the  distinct  impression  that  I  was  being 
directed  by  a  higher  force.  That  does  not  much  matter 
to  me,  as  the  higher  force  led  me  where  I  wanted  to  go. 
And  now,  "  he  added,  rising,  "  let  us  go  to  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Lusson." 

"  What,  without  any  warning,  you  want  to  go  and 
ask  them  for  their  daughter  right  away  ?  Youth  is  piti- 
less! You  will  please  allow  me  to  prepare  them  for  it. 


350  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  will  speak  to  them  this  very  evening,  and,  in  case  they 
allow  you  to  make  your  offer,  I  will  send  you  a  telegram 
in  the  morning,  and  then  you  can  come  full  speed  if  you 
like." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  you  are 
right;  that  would  be  more  the  thing.  Do  you  know, 
god-mother,  that  marriage  is  a  very  great  thing,  and 
not  at  all  trivial,  as  people  imagine.  When  I  think 
that  this  girl,  whom  I  scarcely  dare  to  look  at,  will  per- 
haps be  given  to  me,  will  become  my  wife  —  my  wife, 
you  understand  —  it  makes  me  dizzy.  And  it  is  to  you 
that  I  shall  owe  her,"  he  added,  lifting  my  two  hands  to 
his  lips. 

"  Many  people  and  many  things  will  have  worked 
for  this  union  if  it  should  take  place,"  I  answered. 
"  Do  you  know  from  whom  the  first  idea  of  it  came  to 
me?" 

"  No." 

"  From  Madame  de  Mauriones." 

Guy  let  go  my  hands  and  looked  at  me  in  a  questioning 
way.  I  told  him  the  incident  of  the  Skating  Rink. 

"  You  seemed  so  far  away  from  marriage,  and  Josee 
seemed  so  near  it,  that  I  had  never  thought  of  the  possi- 
bility of  your  lives  being  united.  That  glance  from  the 
Marquise  was  an  indication,  a  suggestion.  I  saw  the 
presentiment  of  a  jealous  woman  in  it,  and  it  encouraged 
me." 

"  Madame  de  Mauriones  will  again  have  served  to  make 
me  know  the  value  of  true  love,"  added  my  god-son  in  a 
grave  voice.  "  You  know  that  she  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried? " 

"  To  Prince  K— ?  "  I  asked,  thoughtlessly. 

A  deep  red  rose  to  Guy's  face. 

"  Ah,  you  know  all  about  it,  I  see,"  he  said,  laughing 
nervously.  "  Yes,  to  Prince  K — .  He  has  gold  mines 


TOURAINE  351 

in  Siberia,  bushels  of  precious  stones,  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  the  happiness  of  certain  women." 

"  Let  us  pity  them,  my  dear  boy,  for  not  knowing 
other  things." 

"  Let  us  pity  them,"  he  repeated ;  "  I  am  quite  will- 
ing." He  then  took  my  hands  again  in  his,  and  added, 
"  Then  it  is  understood ;  a  telegram  to-morrow,  and 
early,  too?  " 

"  As  early  as  possible,  and  I  hope  it  will  fill  your  soul 
with  joy." 

"  You  are  an  angel,  god-mother !  " 

Upon  this  he  took  his  hat  and  went  towards  the  door. 
From  the  threshold  he  threw  me  a  kiss,  and,  like  his 
father  in  moments  of  exultation,  he  called  out  — 

"  I  adore  you !  " 

As  soon  as  I  was  alone  again,  a  crowd  of  doubts  and 
fears  began  to  assail  me.  After  all,  my  hosts  might 
have  other  views  for  their  daughter.  I  knew  that  they 
would  never  oppose  her  inclination;  but  would  not  her 
inclination  for  Guy  cause  them  some  regret?  Count 
de  Morziers  was  certainly  a  much  wealthier  match. 
Supposing  that,  instead  of  satisfaction,  I  was  about  to 
bring  them  great  disappointment. 

I  remembered,  curiously  enough,  Monsieur  de  Lusson's 
first  glance  at  my  god-son  though,  the  evening  I  had  in- 
troduced him  at  the  People's  University.  It  was  the 
glance  of  an  observer,  and  it  was  followed  by  an  ex- 
pression of  pleasure.  During  the  last  week  of  our  stay 
at  Aix-les-Bains  I  had  felt  a  secret  understanding  be- 
tween us,  a  kind  of  complicity.  That  intuition,  which 
was  so  distinct,  reassured  me.  Jean  Noel  prepared  a  fine 
exordium,  but  he  was  not  to  utter  even  the  first  word  of 
it,  of  course.  In  the  depths  of  my  heart  I  was  ridic- 
ulously proud  of  playing  this  mother's  role,  and  de- 
lighted to  experience  fresh  emotions. 


352  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Between  six  and  seven  o'clock  my  hosts  generally  meet 
in  the  library,  where  the  letters  are  brought  to  them. 
That  time  seemed  to  me  favourable.  As  I  went  down- 
stairs my  step  became  slower  and  slower,  and  my  heart 
beat  more  and  more.  When  I  entered,  Monsieur  de  Lus- 
son  was  reading  the  Figaro  aloud,  his  wife  was  crochet- 
ing a  little  garment,  a  wood  fire  was  blazing  in  the  large 
fire-place,  the  lamp  shades  formed  a  pretty  zone  of  light, 
a  black  cat  with  folded  paws  was  asleep  on  the  leaves  of 
a  manuscript.  I  thought  of  the  effect  of  my  words 
falling  in  this  atmosphere  of  peace,  and  my  confusion 
increased.  I  was  welcomed,  as  always,  with  the  most  sin- 
cere kindliness.  I  sat  down  in  my  arm-chair  to  the  right 
of  the  bureau,  and,  taking  up  one  of  the  large  tortoise- 
shell  paper-knives,  which  are  so  pleasant  for  nervous 
hands  to  touch,  I  asked  — 

"  And  what  about  the  visit  to  Pool  Farm,  how  did  it 
go  off?  " 

The  question,  asked  solely  to  delay  my  opening  fire, 
was  destined  to  hasten  this. 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  "  my 
cousin  was  delighted  to  exhibit  his  mission,  for  it  is  a 
mission,  to  a  Grignon  pupil.  Do  you  know  that  I  owe 
an  apology  to  Monsieur  d'Hauterive." 

"Why?" 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  simple  amateur  of  agronomy ; 
this  afternoon  he  astonished  us  all  by  his  real  knowl- 
edge. One  feels  in  him  the  need  of  creating,  of  trans- 
forming. One  feels  that  he  loves  the  soil,  because  it  is 
a  field  for  experiments.  Oh,  he  will  do  something,  that 
young  man." 

"  What  a  pleasure  to  hear  you  speak  like  that !  You 
have  a  weakness  for  him,  I  believe,"  I  added,  rather 
wickedly. 

"  That's  true." 


TOURAINE  353 

"Well,  then,  tell  me,"  I  said,  clenching  my  paper- 
knife  in  my  hand,  "  if  you  had  a  daughter,  would  you 
give  her  to  him?  " 

How  the  odd  idea  of  asking  the  question  in  this  way 
came  to  me  I  do  not  know.  My  hosts  looked  at  each 
other,  deeply  moved.  Monsieur  de  Lusson's  eyeglass 
seemed  to  shine  more  brightly. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Louise  ?  "  he  asked,  with  comic 
gravity.  "  If  we  had  a  daughter,  would  we  give  her 
to  Monsieur  d'Hauterive?  " 

The  mother,  troubled  and  excited,  gave  a  faint 
smile. 

"  I  think  we  would,"  she  said. 

"  And  as  for  me,  I'm  sure  of  it,"  added  the  father 
warmly. 

"But  is  this  serious ?"  asked  Madame  de  Lusson, 
rather  bewildered. 

"  Serious !  Yesterday  my  god-son  had  the  courage  to 
confess  to  me  that  if  he  had  come  a  fortnight  too  early 
to  Touraine,  it  was  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  that  of 
Mademoiselle  Josee,  and  to-day  he  sends  me  as  ambas- 
sadress to  know  whether  he  can  come  to-morrow  to  ask 
your  consent,  neither  more  nor  less  than  that,"  I  said, 
throwing  down  again  the  paper-knife,  which  was  of  no 
further  use. 

We  all  three  of  us  rose  instinctively,  as  though  for 
some  solemn  deed.  Madame  de  Lusson  kissed  me  with  one 
of  those  warm  impulses  which  remind  me  of  Colette.  I 
held  out  my  hand  to  my  host.  He  pressed  it,  and  then 
raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Let  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  come,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  Thank  you  for  him  and  for  me,"  I  replied,  moved 
to  the  very  depth  of  my  heart.  "  It  is  much  more  easy 
to  write  novels  than  to  live  them,"  I  added,  letting  my- 
self fall  back  in  my  arm-chair. 


354  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Poor  Madame  de  Myeres ! "  said  my  host,  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  am  glad,  though,  to  have  been  destined  to  work  for 
the  happiness  of  these  two  children.  Josee  is  a  treasure 
of  womanly  qualities  and  of  modern  qualities." 

"  You  hear  that,  Louise,"  said  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  as 
he  jokingly  shook  his  own  hand. 

"  As  to  Guy,  he  is  perfectly  healthy  in  mind,  body  and 
soul."  * 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  felt  that  at  our  first  meet- 
ing. The  idea  that  he  would  be  a  desirable  husband  for 
Josee  crossed  my  brain  several  times,  I  confess  to  you. 
One  is  not  master  in  these  things.  I  studied  him  closely. 
I  talked  to  him  like  a  comrade,  so  that  he  should  let  him- 
self go.  I  soon  recognised  that  he  had  what  the  English 
call  a  clean  mind,  that  he  had  the  nature  of  a  gentleman, 
morally  and  physically.  You  understand  me.  It  seems 
to  me  that  for  a  refined  woman  nothing  is  above  that." 

"  Nothing ! " 

Madame  de  Lusson  and  I  uttered  this  word  together. 

"  There  are  some  men,  intimacy  with  whom  must  be 
odious.  I  have  had  tears  in  my  eyes  on  looking  at  cer- 
tain brides,  and  have  said  to  myself,  '  There  goes  one 
who,  to-morrow,  will  no  longer  be  a  girl,  but  a  martyr.' 
I  was  resolved,  cost  what  it  might,  to  keep  my  daughter 
from  such  a  fate.  Poor  child,  she  is  so  ignorant  of  life. 
As  regards  all  this,  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  reassures  me 
completely.  Do  you  know,  this  afternoon  my  cousin, 
Seauve,  said  to  me,  nodding  towards  him,  '  There's  a 
young  man  whom  I  should  approve  for  Josee ! '  " 

"  That  proves  that  they  certainly  look  as  though  they 
were  made  for  each  other,"  I  said,  with  a  smile. 

I  told  my  hosts  of  the  fear  I  had  on  seeing  Count  de 
Morziers  so  attentive  to  their  daughter.  Monsieur  de 
Lusson  began  to  laugh. 


TOURAINE  355 

"  For  the  last  year  his  family  has  been  trying  to  work 
my  wife,  and  she  did  not  want  to  discourage  him. 
Mothers  must  always  have  a  son-in-law  in  reserve. 
Then,  too,  we  guessed  that  Josee's  heart  was  rather  in- 
clined towards  your  god-son.  That  did  not  fail  to  make 
us  rather  anxious,  for,  you  see,  he  might  have  had  some 
tie." 

I  felt  that  there  was  a  sort  of  question  in  these  words. 

"  There  was  one,  as  it  happens :  Providence  broke  it 
in  time,  and  in  so  violent  a  manner  that  he  nearly  died 
of  it;  but  the  rupture  is  irrevocable,  I  assure  you.  No 
other  liaison  would  have  prepared  him  so  well  for  mar- 
riage. The  woman  who  initiated  him  was  all  that  we 
could  desire.  If  I  had  not  known  him  to  be  absolutely 
free  I  should  have  taken  care  not  to  introduce  him  to 
you." 

At  this  moment  we  heard  a  noise  in  the  hall. 

"  Here  is  the  young  person,  it  will  be  amusing,"  said 
Monsieur  de  Lusson,  his  eyes  lighting  up  with  mischief. 

The  door  opened,  and  two  terriers  rushed  in  first, 
giving  us  wild  caresses.  One  of  them  sprang  on  to  the 
table,  licked  the  black  cat  vigorously,  and  she,  roused 
suddenly  out  of  her  sleep  or  dream,  gave  him  two 
scratches  on  the  nose,  a  regular  nervous  creature's 
welcome.  Josee  followed. 

"  Good-evening,  all  of  you ! "  she  said,  throwing  her 
hat  on  a  chair.  She  examined  us  all  with  a  curious  look ; 
then,  as  though  she  had  a  presentiment  of  the  solemnity 
of  the  hour,  instead  of  going  to  perch  herself  near  her 
father,  according  to  her  custom,  she  sat  down  on  the  arm 
of  her  mother's  chair. 

"  Anything  fresh  in  the  Figaro?  "  she  asked,  in  a 
careless  way. 

"  No,  not  in  the  Figaro,"  replied  M.  de  Lusson,  stand- 
ing up  in  front  of  the  chimney-piece  and  looking  down 


356  ON  THE  BRANCH 

on  the  scene ;  "  but  Madame  de  Myeres  has  just  made 
us  a  very  interesting  communication." 

"Ah!" 

There  was  a  certain  emotion  in  this  little  word. 

"  Yes,  she  has  just  been  proposing  a  very  good  match 
for  you ;  a  marquis,  a  very  handsome  man,  thirty-five 
years  of  age,  a  chateau  in  Anjou,  twelve  thousand 
pounds  income  and  prospects.  That's  enticing,  isn't 
it?" 

This  was  uttered  in  so  perfectly  natural  a  way  that, 
in  spite  of  the  words  exchanged  with  Guy,  Josee  was 
taken  in.  Her  face  clouded  over  in  a  way  peculiar  to 
her,  she  looked  at  me  with  astonished  eyes  full  of  re- 
proach, and  then  said,  in  a  disdainful  tone  — 

"  Enticing?  Not  for  me.  I  have  no  wish  to  become 
a  marquise.  As  for  a  chateau,  I  have  Chavigny,  and 
I  should  not  care  for  my  husband  to  have  a  fortune  so 
much  greater  than  mine,"  she  added,  swinging  her  foot 
in  a  way  which  betrayed  her  annoyance. 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  was  jubilant. 

u  But,  you  wretched  child,"  he  said,  "  you  will  be  left 
on  our  hands." 

"  You  wouldn't  be  much  to  be  pitied  if  I  were." 

"  No,  but  it  would  be  humiliating." 

I  thought  the  joke  had  lasted  long  enough,  and  I  said, 
with  a  smile,  to  Josee  — 

"  Come  here,  little  girl." 

She  obeyed  me,  and  in  a  very  stiff  way  came  and 
perched  herself  on  the  arm  of  my  chair.  I  pressed  her 
hand  affectionately.  "  Console  yourself ;  this  suitor, 
whose  ambassadress  I  am,  is  not  a  marquis,  but  a  simple 
baron  —  my  god-son,  in  short.  He  loves  you,  and  he  can 
see  no  happiness  except  in  you  and  through  you.  You 
will  accept  him,  won't  you,  if  only  to  be  my  god- 
daughter? " 


TOURAINE  357 

At  the  first  words  a  wave  of  rich  blood  coloured  Josee's 
face,  the  corners  of  her  lips  quivered  slightly,  nervous 
tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  should  like  to  punish  you  all  by  refusing  him," 
she  said,  "  but  I  can't." 

"  Ah,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Monsieur  de  Lusson,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  then  it's  yes  ?  " 

Josee  got  up,  and  after  whispering  in  our  ears, 
to  one  after  another,  a  joyous  "  Yes,"  she  rushed 
away. 

"  Well,  then,  we  have  our  reply,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Lusson.  "  Oh,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  Guy  must  be  in  a  fine  fever !  I  promised  him  a  tele- 
gram to-morrow  morning." 

"  Write  it  at  once,"  suggested  the  kind,  indulgent 
mother.  "  We  will  send  it  to  Rouziers  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

And  I  wrote  — 

"  Affectionate  congratulations ;  expecting  you. 

"  GODMOTHER." 

"  Is  that  right  ?  "  I  asked,  reading  it  to  them. 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Madame  de  Lusson. 

I  rose,  my  host  came  to  me,  and,  taking  my  two  hands 
in  his,  said  — 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  of  our  gratitude ;  you  feel  it,  I 
hope.  This  marriage  delights  me  still  more,  because  it 
will  make  our  friendship  closer.  Poor  Madame  de 
Myeres !  You  wanted  to  live  independently,  and  here 
you  are  with  a  whole  family  on  your  hands.  We  shall 
have  to  finish  together,  and  you  must  work  at  my  con- 
version. We  will  play  bezique,  bridge,  with  a  dummy, 
and  we  shall  have  some  baptisms.  You  can  write  a  novel 
to  teach  the  art  of  growing  old  pleasantly.  We  will 


358  ON  THE  BRANCH 

utilise  our  lives  to  the  very  end,  and  we  will  be  very 
happy,  in  spite  of  age  and  of  rheumatism." 

"  So  be  it,"  I  replied  gaily. 

A  wall,  behind  which  something  is  going  on, 
becomes  interesting.  I  do  not  know  who  said  that, 
but  the  human  creature,  whose  soul  has  been,  or  is, 
the  theatre  of  an  extraordinary  event,  produces  the 
same  effect.  The  play  of  the  forces  of  destiny  com- 
municates to  him  a  peculiar  magnetism,  makes  him 
almost  sacred.  During  the  whole  of  dinner  my  little 
friend  made  me  experience  this  strange  sensation.  My 
eyes  kept  fixing  themselves  eagerly  on  her  face.  To 
catch  what?  Had  she,  then,  an  invisible  halo?  The 
funniest  part  was  that  her  parents  watched  her  with 
the  same  curiosity.  Her  dress  of  ivory-coloured  canvas, 
with  wide,  transparent  sleeves,  her  bodice  trimmed 
with  a  bunch  of  roses,  made  her  look  delightfully 
young.  At  times  her  inward  excitement  overflowed 
in  rapid  words,  changing  her  very  voice.  I  could  not 
help  admiring  her  tact  and  her  self-possession.  She 
took  part  in  the  conversation  as  usual,  and  appeared 
to  be  interested  in  it.  She  then  played  bridge  with 
meritorious  attention.  I  guessed  the  mysterious  force 
which,  from  Tours,  was  acting  on  her  without  her 
knowledge.  She  yielded  to  it  for  a  second,  then  by  an 
effort  of  will  she  brought  her  thoughts  back  to  the 
cards,  drew  her  beautiful  straight  eyebrows  together, 
in  order  to  reflect  better  as  to  whether  she  ought  to 
"  double  "  or  declare  "  no  trumps."  I  took  pity  on  her 
and  said  I  was  tired,  in  order  to  give  her  back  to  herself 
and  Guy.  I  advised  her  in  a  whisper,  kissing  her  at 
the  same  time,  to  put  on  the  next  morning  the  tailor- 
costume  she  had  worn  on  Sunday.  She  replied  with 
a  glance  of  understanding.  I  am  sure  she  had  already 


TOURAINE  359 

chosen  that  one.  After  such  a  day  I  could  not  sleep 
before  morning,  so  that  it  was  late  when  I  got  up.  I 
had  only  just  finished  dressing  when  my  god-son  ar- 
rived. He  clasped  nie  in  his  arms,  no  longer  with 
the  juvenile  transport  of  the  evening  before,  but  with 
the  gravity  of  a  man. 

"  Then  it's  '  Yes  '  ?  "  he  said,  deeply  moved. 

"  It  is  '  Yes.'  You  certainly  do  not  deserve  it,  con- 
sidering your  very  recent  horror  of  marriage  and  of 
girls." 

"  You  are  right.     What  an  idiot  I  was ! " 

"  Providence  has  spoiled  you  by  reserving  for  you  a 
wife  like  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson." 

"Spoiled  me:  I  should  just  think  so,  god-mother; 
and  I  am  quite  conscious  of  it,  you  may  be  sure." 

He  made  me  sit  down  on  the  little  sofa. 

"  And  now  tell  me  all,"  he  said. 

I  then  described,  without  omitting  anything,  the 
scene  of  the  evening  before.  He  rose  and  began  to 
pace  the  room,  while  twisting  his  moustache.  I  noticed 
how  well  he  looked,  and  also  the  perfect  correctness  of 
his  morning  dress.  I  even  rejoiced  for  an  instant  in 
the  thought  of  the  harmonious  ensemble  that  his  well- 
cut  suit  would  make  with  the  tailor-costume  of  my  little 
friend.  He  suddenly  stopped  short  in  front  of  me, 
with  a  comically  scared  look. 

"  God-mother,  what  am  I  going  to  say  to  Monsieur 
and  Madame  de  Lusson?  How  does  one  ask  for  a 
girl's  hand?  Is  there  any  formula?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  I  answered,  smiling ; 
"  your  affection  is  too  sincere  not  to  inspire  you  with 
words  for  the  situation." 

I  rose.  Guy  took  my  hand  and  held  it  against  his 
breast. 


360  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Feel  how  it  beats  inside  there." 

"  It  is  fine,  that  strong,  regular  rhythm,"  I  said,  with 
admiration. 

My  boy  smiled. 

"  God-mother,  you  are  astounding  with  your  way  of 
considering  Life." 

"  Don't  be  scandalised ;  it  is  Jean  Noel  who  looks  at  it 
like  this."  Then,  taking  his  arm,  I  said,  "  Come,  let 
us  go  down." 

My  hosts  were  waiting  for  us  in  the  library. 

"  Here  is  the  celebrated  god-son,"  I  announced,  by 
way  of  making  the  situation  easy  at  once ;  "  he  has  come 
to  ask  for  all  that  you  have  which  is  most  dear  and 
precious  to  you." 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  held  out  both  his  hands  to  the 
suitor. 

"  Our  little  Josee,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said,  in  an  affectionate 
way.  "  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  we  are  happy  to  give 
her  to  you.  We  feel  that  you  love  her  as  she  deserves 
to  be  loved.  Your  character  is  a  guarantee  of  happiness 
for  her,  and  her  happiness  is  what  we  desire  above 
everything." 

A  wave  of  deep  emotion  coloured  Guy's  face.  In- 
stinctively he  turned  towards  the  mother.  "  How  am 
I  to  thank  you  ?  "  he  stammered  out ;  "  I  can  find  no 
words " 

"  We  do  not  need  words,"  answered  Madame  de  Lus- 
son. "  We  know  your  feelings,  and  that  suffices  for 
us.  I  warn  you,  that  I  do  not  want  a  son-in-law,  but 
a  son,"  she  added,  with  Colette's  bright  smile ;  "  I  have 
always  wanted  one." 

"  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  becoming  yours,  you 
are  so  much  like  my  mother,"  replied  the  young  man, 
raising  to  his  lips  the  hand  that  the  charming  woman 
held  out  to  him. 


TOURAINE  361 

"  I  will  tell  you,  some  time,  why  I  would  have  chosen 
you  out  of  a  hundred,"  began  my  host,  again  tapping 
Guy's  shoulder  affectionately.  "  Go  now  to  your 
fiancee;  she  will  be  either  in  the  park  or  at  '  The  Cot- 
tage,' letting  herself  be  looked  for.  And,  above  all, 
don't  forget  luncheon !  " 

When  we  were  alone  again  we  looked  at  each  other. 
A  silence  fell  upon  us,  that  peculiar  silence  which  fol- 
lows the  great  events  of  Life.  I  was  the  first  to  break 
it.  And  we  then  talked  freely,  and  had  the  consolation 
of  feeling  that  we  were  all  very  united  and  very  great 
friends.  Towards  eleven  o'clock  we  saw  the  young 
couple  coming  out  on  the  lawn. 

"  What  a  handsome  couple  they  are !  "  said  Monsieur 
de  Lusson.  "  It  makes  one  wish  to  be  a  grandfather !  " 

The  lovers  came  slowly  towards  us.  My  coquettish 
little  friend  had  added  to  her  tailor-costume  a  waistcoat 
of  white  cloth  and  a  white  necktie.  This  was  extremely 
becoming.  At  the  threshold  of  the  French  window  Guy 
took  JoseVs  arm  and  drew  it  through  his. 

"  Let  me  introduce  my  fiancee." 

"  Let  me  introduce  my  fiance,"  said  the  young  girl, 
smiling. 

Deep  emotion  penetrated  through  this  speech,  made 
in  a  joking  way. 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  the  blacksmith  of  Gretna 
Green  ?  "  asked  my  host,  in  order  to  hide  his  feelings. 

"  I  should  think  myself  better  married  by  you  than 
by  him,"  answered  my  god-son  gaily ;  "  you  have  more 
authority."  • 

"  That  is  possible,  but  I  will  leave  the  honour  and 
the  pleasure  of  the  ceremony  to  the  mayor  and  the 
priest." 

Josee  came  and  kissed  her  mother  and  me  affection- 
ately. She  then  went  to  her  father.  Monsieur  de  Lus- 


362  ON  THE  BRANCH 

son  gazed  at  her  a  moment,  then  taking  her  two  hands 
he  raised  them  to  his  lips  with  a  shade  of  respect. 

"  We  make  these  children's  hands,"  he  said,  "  to  give 
them  away  some  day.  This  is  Life.  I  am  paying  my 
debt  to-day,  you  will  pay  yours  when  your  turn  comes, 
little  girl.  In  the  mean  time,  I  am  glad  to  think  that 
there  is  some  one  to  take  my  place  with  you." 

"  No  one  will  ever  take  your  place,  father,"  replied 
the  girl  quickly. 

"  Oh  no,  no !  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  is  not  taking 
any  one's  place." 

"  Because  he  has  his  own,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Josee  nodded,  blushing. 

"  Ah,  Madame  de  Myeres,  what  gratitude  we  owe 
you !  If  you  had  not  had  a  god-son,  this  young  person 
would  have  been  capable  of  remaining  an  old  maid." 

Luncheon  was  announced  at  this  moment;  Monsieur 
de  Lusson  gave  Guy  the  hand  he  had  been  holding. 

"  Take  your  fiancee  in  to  luncheon,  and  go  first.  It 
will  give  Fran9ois  a  shock,  and  he  will  have  the  pleasure 
of  announcing  the  news  to  the  other  servants." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day  the  atmosphere  of 
the  "  Commanderie,"  always  agreeable,  was  truly  ex- 
quisite. Happy  love,  our  own  satisfaction,  the  kindness 
of  my  hosts,  the  over-excited  affection  of  the  servants, 
spread  about  waves  of  joy.  I  felt  them  distinctly. 
The  dogs,  the  cats  —  especially  the  latter  —  seemed  to 
be  affected  by  this  beneficial  electricity.  They  went  for 
mad  scampers  round  the  lawn ;  I  had  never  seen  them 
so  gay.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,  certain  sentiments 
give  out  warm  waves.  When  man  knows  more  about 
himself,  he  will  pay  attention  to  creating  these  for  his 
own  comfort. 

Guy  sent  Louis  to  Tours  to  fetch  his  dress  suit  and 
the  bouquet,  every  flower  of  which  he  had  chosen  in 


TOURAINE  363 

the  morning.  In  spite  of  the  novelty  of  the  situation, 
the  dinner  was  very  gay,  without  any  trace  of  embar- 
rassment. Miss  Jones  was  radiant.  There  was  joy 
even  in  her  freckles.  On  leaving  the  table  she  pressed 
my  hand  and  said  in  a  low  voice  — 

"  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  will  make  a  good  god-father." 
She  evidently  felt  reassured  about  the  fate  of  her  boys. 

Guy  had  the  tact  to  leave  early.  He  is  going  to  Paris 
to-morrow  to  buy  the  engagement  ring.  I  knew  that 
Josee  would  want  to  have  a  talk  with  me.  Many  a 
time  her  eyes  had  sought  mine.  We  had  even  ex- 
changed signs  of  mutual  intelligence.  Jean  Noel  was 
not  sorry  to  have  her  confidences  as  a  girl  in  love. 
Towards  half-past  ten,  a  little  timid  knock,  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  the  other  nights,  was  to  be  heard  at 
my  door.  I  compared  it  inwardly  with  the  triumphant 
knock  which,  the  evening  before,  had  announced  my 
god-son.  My  visitor  arrived,  as  usual,  in  her  white 
dressing-gown.  From  the  end  of  the  room  where  I 
was,  I  saw  a  veritable  glow  on  the  upper  part  of  her 
face.  I  went  forward  to  meet  her.  She  put  her  arms 
silently  round  my  neck,  her  cheek  against  mine. 

"  Well,  little  girl,  are  you  happy?  "  I  asked,  freeing 
myself  gently. 

"  Happy !  "  she  repeated ;  "  happy !  I  hope  that  you, 
too,  have  known  what  I  feel  to-day?  " 

"  Be  content,"  I  said ;  "  I  have  had  my  share  of  happi- 
ness, a  very  large  share." 

"  Ah,  so  much  the  better !  I  should  be  wretched  to 
think  that  this  joy  should  have  been  refused  to  you. 
And  then,  too,  you  can  understand  me  entirely." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  understand  you." 

Josee  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  by  the  fire-place,  and 
I  in  the  arm-chair  opposite  her. 

"  You  see,  Madame  de  Mj'eres,"  she  began,  "  there 


364  ON  THE  BRANCH 

are  things  that  one  cannot  talk  about  with  one's  mother. 
I  wonder  why  this  is.  And  married  women  are  not 
nice  to  girls.  Instead  of  initiating  them  in  a  sisterly 
way  about  life,  letting  them  profit  by  their  experience, 
they  say,  *  You  must  do  as  we  did,  look  out  for  your- 
selves.' They  put  on  mysterious  airs,  which  make  us 
imagine  all  kinds  of  horrors.  Some  of  them  have  given 
me  regular  nightmares.  We  are  therefore  reduced  to 
talking  of  love  and  marriage  among  ourselves;  we  talk 
about  these  things  in  an  absurd  way,  probably,  like 
blind  people  talk  of  light." 

"  That  is  just  it." 

My  little  friend  crossed  her  hands  round  her  knees, 
and  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  her  lips  quivering. 

"  Jean  Noel,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Well  ?  "  I  answered,  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"  Can  a  person  love  any  one  she  has  never  seen  ?  " 

"  I  think  so ;  one  may  be  affected  in  advance  by  the 
radiation  of  another  person." 

"  Well,  then,  I  was." 

"Really?" 

"  The  first  time  that  you  said  '  my  god-son  '  it  made 
an  impression  on  me.  Afterwards  I  always  listened 
with  interest  to  anything  you  told  about  him.  I  liked 
that  name  of  Guy  d'Hauterive  better  than  any  other." 

"  I  felt  that." 

Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  opened  her  eyes  wide  and 
looked  at  me. 

"  No ! "  she  said,  with  an  expression  of  stupor. 
"  How  dangerous  a  novelist  is !  " 

"  Very   dangerous." 

"  You  didn't  think,  I  hope,  that  I  was  on  the  look-out 
for  a  husband.  All  kinds  of  men  had  already  been* 
introduced  to  me." 


TOURAINE  365 

"  That  idea  never  occurred  to  me.  But  go  on,  little 
girl;  Jean  Noel  is  greatly  interested." 

"  You  are  making  fun  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

A  wave  of  colour  passed  over  the  girl's  face. 

"  When  '  your  boy  '  was  taken  ill,  I  was  most  anxious 
and  distressed.  It  was  I  who  telephoned  to  have  news 
of  him,  and  my  heart  used  to  beat  as  though  he  were 
on  the  other  side.  Tell  me,  don't  you  think  it  was 
strange?  " 

"  It  seems  so  to  us,  because  we  know  nothing  about 
the  exteriorisation  of  man.  In  the  near  future,  science 
will  study  the  texture  of  Life,  the  most  beautiful  secrets 
of  Nature  are  there." 

"  Ah,  let  science  study  them  quickly,  then,  these  se- 
crets; it  is  too  stupid  not  to  know  a  single  one  of  the 
forces  which  make  us  act !  " 

"  And  when  you  saw  '  the  god-son,'  were  you  not 
disappointed?  " 

"  No,  on  the  contrary ;  but  I  imagined  that  he  was 
darker  and  not  so  tall.  I  was  wildly  glad  to  hear 
that  he  was  coming  to  Aix.  You  see,  I  am  telling  you 
all." 

"  You  are  a  charming  penitent  to  confess." 

"  But  for  a  few  days  I  had  a  great  deal  of  disappoint- 
ment to  bear.  I  felt  that  I  did  not  exist  for  him;  it 
was  all  in  vain  that  I  changed  my  dress  or  my  hat,  he 
looked  at  me  and  did  not  see  me.  There  was  an  obstacle 
on  his  side,  I  did  not  know  what,  which  gave  me  the 
impression  of  a  high  wall.  When  you  used  to  talk 
together,  and  when  you  were  having  tea  with  him  on 
the  Club  terrace,  I  envied  you  terribly.  You  didn't  look 
as  though  you  had  any  idea  of  your  good  fortune," 
added  Josee  seriously. 


366  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  No,  really ;  and  tell  me,"  I  continued,  pitiless,  like 
an  inquisitive  confessor,  "  had  not  the  high  wall  of 
which  you  speak  disappeared  the  last  week  of  our  stay 
at  Aix?  " 

The  young  girl  coloured;  a  bright  smile  lighted  up 
her  face. 

"  Yes,  there  were  only  the  tennis-nets  left." 

"  We  will  put  a  commemorative  tablet  up  to  that 
blessed  tennis-court  of  the  Hotel  Splendide." 

"  Blessed,  truly,"  murmured  Josee. 

"  Then  when  Guy  landed  here  on  Sunday,  you  knew 
it  was  for  you  that  he  came?  " 

Mademoiselle  nodded  her  head,  and  then  said,  with 
pretty  confusion  — 

"  As  well  as  though  he  had  told  me." 

"  Ah,  the  communication  was  well  established,  I  see," 
I  said  in  a  mocking  tone. 

My  little  friend  clasped  her  hands  more  firmly  round 
her  knees,  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  flame  from  the 
fire,  but  I  saw  that  she  was  looking  within  her  soul. 

"  How  wonderful  it  is,  this  transmission  of  thought 
without  words,"  she  said  slowly ;  "  these  intuitions,  this 
power  that  another  person  acquires  over  you!  I  go 
from  one  surprise  to  another.  I  have  become  a  ver- 
itable phenomenon  for  myself.  Does  it  seem  ridiculous 
to  you,  this  autopsy chology  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  looking 
at  me  rather  anxiously. 

"  Ridiculous !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Ah,  you  do  not  know 
what  joy  you  give  me.  In  my  time  we  loved  instinct- 
ively, without  knowing  why  or  how;  you  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  are  beginning  fo  analyse  your  sensations,  to 
want  to  sound  the  mystery.  That  proves  an  immense 
progress." 

"  My  studies,  insufficient  though  they  are,  our  con- 


TOURAINE  367 

versations,  all  these  recent  discoveries,  make  me  reflect 
in  spite  of  myself." 

"  You  are  influenced,  too,  without  your  knowledge, 
by  the  ideas  which  are  in  the  air,  the  new  currents. 
Science  is  going  ahead.  Who  knows  if,  after  the 
Rontgen,  the  Becquerel  and  the  N.  rays,  it  will  not 
discover  the  A.  ray,  the  ray  of  Love  ?  " 

A  h'ttle  fright  was  depicted  on  Mademoiselle  de  Lus- 
son's  face. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  though  suffocated.  "  That 
would  be  rather  terrible.  Don't  you  remember  the 
fable  of  Psyche?  She  wanted  to  see  Love,  and  it  flew 
away." 

"  Yes,  it  was  afraid  of  the  light,  because  it  was  still 
a  child;  but,  remember,  it  came  back  again  later,  at 
the  age  of  a  man,  perhaps,  and  it  gave  her  immortality." 

"  That  is  true ;  oh  yes,  that  is  true !  "  said  Josee,  with 
a  radiant  expression.  "  I  had  forgotten  the  end  of  the 
fable." 

"  Your  epoch  will  probably  see  that  ending.  Do  not 
fear  anything,  little  girl ;  God's  work  within  us  and  out- 
side us  is  greater  than  we  imagine.  We  are  greater, 
too ;  Science  will  teach  us  to  understand  Life  better,  and 
it  will  teach  us  to  love  Him  from  whom  life  emanates." 

"  What  happiness !  Madame  de  Myeres,  do  you  think 
that  Monsieur  d'Hauterive  would  have  felt  much  grief 
—  really  much,  I  mean  —  if  I  had  not  cared  for  him  ?  " 
she  suddenly  asked. 

"  Very  much,  my  child,  for  all  his  hopes  of  happiness 
are  in  you." 

Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  that  I  shall  not  disappoint  them ! " 

"  I  am  sure  of  that." 

Josee  got  up. 


368  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  You  weren't  very  well  satisfied  yesterday,"  I  added, 
smiling,  "  when  your  father  told  you  that  I  was  pro- 
posing a  marquis  as  a  candidate  for  your  hand,  instead 
of  proposing  my  god-son?  " 

"  It  was  abominable  of  papa.  He  has  begged  my 
forgiveness." 

The  young  girl  put  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and 
through  the  thin  dressing-gown  I  felt  her  body  trem- 
bling with  joyous  vitality. 

"  You  are  an  angel !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Guy  has  already  told  me  that,  find  something  else," 
I  said. 

She  moved  a  little  farther  away,  looked  at  me  with 
a  smile  at  the  corners  of  her  lips,  and  then  said  in  a 
low  voice  full  of  emotion  — 

"  God-mother." 

"  That's  right !  That's  what  I  wanted  to  hear !  You 
have  confessed  very  well,  my  dear  god-child.  Jean 
Noel  gives  you  absolution.  Now  go  and  sleep,  and  may 
God  bless  you  '  with  His  great  blessing,'  as  the  peasants 
say  with  us." 

With  this  wish  I  sent  my  little  friend  away,  and,  as 
I  watched  her  go,  I  felt  that  complacency  which  one 
has  in  spite  of  one's  self  after  making  somebody  happy. 

Commanderie  de  Houziers. 

The  engagement  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson  and  the 
Baron  d'Hauterive  has  been  announced  to  friends  and 
acquaintances.  The  bouquet  with  which  Louis  insists 
on  decorating  his  automobile  every  time  that  the  young 
girl  gets  in  it,  can  no  longer  astonish  any  one.  My 
little  friend  now  wears  on  her  finger  a  master-piece  of 
our  Art  Nouveau;  two  ruby  cabochons  set  in  a  ring  of 
dull  gold  of  curious  design.  Monsieur  de  Lusson  has 
overwhelmed  us  with  joy  by  giving  to  Guy  the  Chavigny 


TOURAINE  369 

estate.  He  has  done  this,  I  do  not  doubt,  at  Josee's 
request.  Uncle  Georges,  whom  I  had  kept  informed 
of  everything,  is  delighted.  Our  engaged  couple  are 
both  full  of  tact  and  discretion;  they  do  not  attempt  to 
avoid  each  other,  but  walk  about  and  talk  before  our 
eyes.  They  enjoy  themselves  with  us,  and  join  glee- 
fully in  our  game  at  hearts,  an  American  game  for  five 
persons  which  has  necessarily  taken  the  place  of  bridge. 
I  fancy  that  my  god-son  is  not  sorry  to  put  us  all  be- 
tween himself  and  the  living  temptation  that  this 
young  girl  must  be  to  him.  Madame  de  Lusson  is 
openly  glad  to  marry  her  daughter  and  to  marry  her 
well.  She  is  already  thinking  of  the  trousseau,  the 
dresses  and  the  ceremony.  With  my  host  the  reaction 
is  less  joyful.  He  feels,  in  advance,  the  void  that  is 
about  to  be  made  in  his  home.  And  then  to  give  his 
daughter,  the  baby  of  former  days,  the  child  of  yester- 
day, the  maiden  of  to-day,  away  to  a  man!  It  is 
secretly  repugnant  to  him;  I  have  guessed  that.  It  is 
all  in  vain  that  he  keeps  saying  to  himself,  "  It  is  the 
law  of  Nature."  That  law  wounds,  in  him,  an  infinitely 
delicate  sentiment  that  many  fathers  know.  As  for  me, 
I  feel  the  secret  satisfaction  which  the  accomplishment 
of  a  difficult  task  gives,  a  curious  relief,  a  sensation  of 
security.  It  is  as  though  I  have  just  escaped  a  great 
danger.  I  watch  Guy's  happiness,  I  enjoy  it  and  re- 
joice in  it,  with  all  those  maternal  fibres  which  have  so 
strangely  vibrated  in  me  under  my  heart.  At  times, 
though,  I  cannot  help  regretting  that  I  am  no  longer 
necessary  to  him.  Then,  too,  that  likeness  to  his  father, 
which  love  now  accentuates,  gives  me  occasionally 
strange  hallucinations.  When  I  see  him  from  a  little 
way  off,  with  a  light  falling  on  him  in  a  certain  way, 
walking  by  the  side  of  Josee,  resting  his  arm  familiarly 
on  hers,  I  feel  a  brusque  sensation  of  desertion  and 


370  ON  THE  BRANCH 

infidelity.  It  is  only  fleeting,  but  it  is  painful,  like 
the  blade  of  a  knife  on  the  heart.  This  sensation  is 
such  a  reflex  one  that  I  have  not  time  to  repress  it. 
How  mysterious  this  poor  human  atom  is ! 

This  afternoon,  the  beautiful  mild  weather  allowed 
us  to  have  tea  out-of-doors.  Madame  de  Lusson  and 
her  daughter  were  dressed  for  an  automobile  drive  to 
Tours.  Three  unexpected  guests  had  sent  word  by 
telegram  that  they  were  coming  to  dinner.  It  was 
necessary  to  go  to  Ladmiraut's  to  fetch  more  provisions. 
Monsieur  de  Lusson  looked  round  the  table  a  moment, 
and  a  smile  lighted  up  his  eye-glasses. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mile.  Josee,"  he  said,  "  that  if  we 
had  not  all  gone  to  Cannes  you  would  not  have  that 
pretty  ring  on  your  finger?  I  am  going  in  for  induc- 
tive philosophy  like  Madame  de  Myeres." 

"  Make  fun  of  me  if  you  like,  but  for  us  to  be  here 
together  to-day,"  I  added,  "  it  was  necessary  for  me  to 
have  met  Sir  William.  He  insisted  in  the  most  extraor- 
dinary way,  considering  his  usual  discretion,  on  my 
making  your  acquaintance." 

"  You  refused,  I  would  wager?  " 

"  I  did.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  too  late  to  make 
new  friends.  Then  when  I  had  seen  Madame  de  Lusson 
and  this  young  person 

"  And  me,"  added  my  host. 

"  And  you,  of  course,  all  my  objections  vanished. 
The  result  —  well,  there  it  is,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the 
engaged  couple. 

"  Oh,  Guy,"  exclaimed  Josee,  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  you 
never  knew  Sir  William,  I  should  so  much  like  to  talk 
about  him  to  you." 

"  Talk  about  him  by  all  means.  It's  enough  that  he 
contributed  towards  bringing  me  here  for  him  to  inter- 
est me.  And  to  think  that  you  were  all  working  for 


TOURAINE  371 

my  happiness,  without  my  having  any  idea  of  it, 
whilst  I  — " 

My  god-sori  broke  off  in  time,  and  a  fleeting  colour 
passed  over  his  face. 

"  When  one  stops  to  look  at  Life  one  is  quite  amazed," 
he  continued.  "  There,  now  I  am  going  to  eat  this 
piece  of  bread-and-butter  with  more  gratitude,"  he  said, 
slowly  doubling  up  a  thin  slice. 

"  Oh  no ! "  exclaimed  Madame  de  Lusson,  "  make 
haste,  on  the  contrary.  Cook  is  waiting.  My  lord 
and  master  does  not  like  dinners  that  go  wrong.  You 
shall  philosophise  another  time." 

The  young  people  hurried  with  their  tea.  The  auto- 
mobile came  for  them,  and  Monsieur  de  Lusson  and  I 
were  soon  alone.  I  went  on  drinking  my  tea,  and  he 
lighted  his  cigarette. 

"  How  sorry  I  am,"  I  said,  "  to  think  that  Sir  Wil- 
liam will  not  sec  the  marriage  of  these  children.  I  con- 
sider that  he  was  the  principal  agent  in  it,  the  fac- 
tor." 

"  A  most  extraordinary  thing  was  the  discovery  of 
the  relationship  of  my  wife  and  Lady  Randolph.  One 
would  have  to  be  rather  dull  not  to  recognise  in  this 
fact  a  sort  of  destiny." 

"  A  confession,"  I  said ;  "  I  take  note  of  that." 

"  Oh,  you  will  never  make  me  believe  that  I  am  a 
mere  factor." 

"  A  co-operator  with  God !  Does  not  the  situation 
seem  high  enough  for  you?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  It  is  not  that,  but  there  is,  in  the  idea  of  conscious 
struggle,  of  voluntary  effort,  of  responsibility,  a  dig- 
nity which  I  would  not  give  up.  Humanity  has  be- 
lieved for  so  long  that  it  possesses  the  power  of  deter- 
mining for  itself." 

"  It  believed  for  a  very  long  time,  also,  that  the  sun 


372  ON  THE  BRANCH 

turned  round  its  planet,  that  the  stars  had  been  created 
to  brighten  its  nights,  that  it  was  the  centre  of  the 
universe.  Its  vision  was  set  right,  and  it  has  not  been 
any  unhappier  on  that  account.  Besides,  this  belief  in 
freedom  of  action,  in  personal  work,  was  necessary  to 
humanity  in  its  childish  state." 

"  Do  you  think  that  humanity  is  old  enough  now  to 
do  without  it?" 

"  Frankly,  no,  I  do  not." 

"  Come,  that  is  honest  at  least." 

"  The  majority  of  men  are  still  incapable  of  discern- 
ing the  hand  of  God  in  the  combinations  of  life,  of 
feeling  the  soul  of  the  forces  which  direct  us.  They 
might  attribute  them  to  blind  fatality,  to  luck.  Gener- 
ally people  who  do  not  believe  in  anything,  the  weak 
ones  especially,  believe  in  themselves.  That  is  some- 
thing. As  for  me,  and  those  who  share  my  conviction, 
we  belong  to  the  to-morrow,  that  is  all." 

"  Or  to  the  day  after,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  my  host, 
with  his  delicate  irony.  "  I  forgive  you,  Madame  de 
Myeres,"  he  continued,  "  because  you  never  try  to  build 
your  own  ideas  into  dogmas." 

"  I  know  too  well  that  all  minds,  like  all  bodies, 
cannot  be  fed  and  sustained  in  the  same  way." 

"  Then,  according  to  your  theories,  we  should  have 
no  merit?  "  began  my  companion  again,  with,  the  idea 
of  cornering  me. 

"  No  merit  ?     Why,  we  have  immense  merit !  " 

"  What  is  it,  if  you  please?  " 

"  The  merit  of  having  lived  and  suffered.  It  is  all 
the  greater  as  we  never  asked  to  be  born,  as  we  did 
not  choose  our  roles,  and  as  we  must  work  at  some- 
thing which  we  could  not  even  imagine.  I  have  the 
consciousness  of  being  the  instrument  of  Providence 
to  such  a  degree  that  after  a  'veil-filled  day,  before  a 


TOURAINE  373 

certain  number  of  pages  covered  with  the  little  char- 
acters which  are  destined  to  make  people  think,  I  have 
sometimes  said  aloud,  quite  spontaneously,  '  I  hope  you 
are  satisfied  with  your  workwoman,  oh  God ! '  A  sen- 
sation of  warm  joy  has  gone  through  me.  That  was 
His  reply,  perhaps.  Oh,  He  recognises  the  merit  of 
His  co-operators !  He  will  recompense  our  willingness 
above  everything,  I  fancy,  because  it  facilitates  the  play 
of  the  forces  which  are  leading  us  towards  life,  towards 
beauty." 

"  A  fine  hypothesis !  Did  you  convert  Sir  William 
to  it?" 

"  Not  precisely." 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  gave  a  sigh  which  came  straight 
from  the  soul. 

"  Well,  I  often  envied  our  friend  his  absolute  faith. 
The  Saxons  have  a  higher  idea  of  God  than  the  Latins. 
We  have  too  many  superstitions  between  ourselves  and 
Him." 

"  What  is  most  remarkable  is  that  other  great  nations, 
England,  Germany  and  Russia,  put  themselves  openly 
under  the  protection  of  God  and  invoke  Him  in  their  na- 
tional hymns.  Our  Republic  affects  to  ignore  His 
existence.  It  is  absolutely  ridiculous  and  grotesque. 
The  Republic  has  no  idea  how  small  and  how  vulgar  it 
becomes  through  this." 

"  The  truth  is  that  the  Saxon  has  the  religious  senti- 
ment, whilst  the  Latin  has  just  simply  a  religion.  In 
France  we  are  beginning  to  leave  Catholicism  on  the 
road.  You  must  agree  that  it  is  too  childish." 

"  Childish,  Catholicism !  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Madame  de  Myeres." 

"  Why,  no,  it  is  a  religion  with  grand  rites,  and 
together  with  Buddhism,  it  is  the  deepest  there  is.  Just 
think  of  it  —  it  has  thrown  a  bridge  over  to  the  Beyond ; 


374  ON  THE  BRANCH 

it  has  put  into  activity  the  psychical  forces  of  which  we 
were  ignorant,  and  by  means  of  these  it  has  done  good 
to  humanity  and  produced  masterpieces  of  art.  It  calls 
every  day,  through  the  voice  of  its  priests,  the  divine 
ray  into  the  host,  which  is  the  symbol  of  corporal  life." 

"  Does  it  really  come  there,  that  ray  ?  That  is  what 
we  want  to  know." 

"  It  does  come  there ;  I  have  seen  it  transfigure  un- 
happy beings,  communicate  to  them  extraordinary 
courage.  There  is  a  presence  in  Catholic  churches,  it 
is  impossible  to  deny  that.  One  feels  it.  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  open  my  catechism  again.  You  cannot 
imagine  the  effect,  after  thirty-four  or  thirty-five  years. 
That  dogma,  which  had  disgusted  my  childish  and  youth- 
ful ignorance,  appeared  to  me,  in  its  great  lines,  of  per- 
fectly philosophical  simplicity.  The  theological  mys- 
teries seemed  to  me  to  enter  into,  the  order  of  the  mys- 
teries of  Nature.  I  am  quite  convinced  that  Catholicism 
has  had  all  the  revelation  that  humanity  could  bear. 
Science  will  be  its  apologist:  it  will  teach  us  how  one 
walks  '  on  the  waters.' ' 

"  Science,  but  the  Church  is  afraid  of  it !  " 

"  Because  it  is  ignorant.  Have  you  read  Father 
Didon's  letters?" 

"  Rather !  How  the  mind  of  that  poor  monk  soared ! 
What  an  intuition  of  the  modern  movement !  " 

"  Yes,  he  would  have  liked  Catholicism  to  have  en- 
tered into  it,  to  have  been  at  the  head  of  it.  He  knew 
that  it  would  bring  good  capital  to  it." 

"  What  upset  me  was  to  see  that  he  made  such  a 
strange  mistake  in  the  person  he  chose  as  a  confidant 
of  his  enthusiasm  and  aspirations.  We  all  knew  her  at 
Tours." 

"  I  could  quite  understand  that,  though.  She  was 
ill  at  the  time,  she  was  going  through  one  of  those 


TOURAINE  375 

physiological  or  psychological  crises  which  spiritualise 
woman  and  bring  her  near  to  the  priest.  She  appeared 
to  Father  Didon  as  a  soul.  It  was  that  soul  which  he 
loved.  When  the  crisis  had  passed,  Mademoiselle  Z — 
became,  once  more,  what  she  was  in  reality,  a  practical 
and  very  circumspect  person.  The  proof  is,  that  she 
knew  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  halo  acquired  so 
cheaply.  I  feel  persuaded  that  in  the  depths  of  her 
soul  she  is  now  astonished  at  ever  having  been  the  woman 
whom  the  Dominican  called  his  '  unique  daughter.' 
What  an  expression  that  was !  " 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  pushed  his  hat  back,  and  said, 
with  eyes  full  of  mockery  — 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  guess  such  a  thing  ?  You 
seem  to  know  Life  and  femininity  in  all  its  hidden 
corners." 

"  It  was  for  this  reason  that  those  magnificent  letters 
did  not  scandalise  me.  With  their  deep  philosophy, 
mingled  with  a  current  of  pure  and  manly  affection, 
they  caused  me  infinite  pleasure." 

"  You  see,  when  there  is  a  Father  Didon,  the  Church 
sends  him  to  Corbara." 

"  The  Father  Didons  will  become  so  numerous  that  it 
will  no  longer  be  possible  to  shut  them  up.  Let  Provi- 
dence go  its  own  way.  It  will  utilise  all  the  precious 
elements  to  be  found  in  Catholicism.  A  lot  of  shells 
had  become  incrusted  on  the  sides  of  the  Ship  of  the 
Church.  She  will  get  rid  of  them.  The  men  who  are 
now  hammering  at  her  are,  perhaps,  doing  this  work. 
How  do  we  know?  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  truth,  where  is  that?  "  asked  my  com- 
panion, with  some  exasperation. 

"  Scattered  about  like  seeds,  I  imagine,  enclosed  in 
coverings  that  we  must  break  open,  in  dogmas,  legends, 
even  in  fables.  For  instance,  in  that  poor  Book  of 


376  ON  THE  BRANCH 

Genesis,  that  has  been  so  much  criticised,  I  discovered 
a  truly  extraordinary  proof  of  intuition." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  The  sacred  poet  gives  to  the  tempter  the  figure  of 
a  serpent.  Now  the  human  germ  has,  in  reality,  as 
you  know,  a  serpent's  head.  It  certainly  was  not 
through  the  revelations  of  a  microscope  that  he  had 
this  symbol.  And  what  a  symbol !  " 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  threw  away  his  cigarette  and 
looked  at  me. 

"  Ah,  that  is  too  strong ! "  he  exclaimed,  laughing ; 
"  how  did  the  idea  of  that  comparison  come  to  you  ?  " 

"  At  Simley  Hall,  one  Sunday  morning,  I  was  alone 
in  the  library.  After  reading  once  more  the  Book  of 
Genesis,  which  always  had  a  sort  of  fascination  for  me, 
I  took  hap-hazard  from  the  bookshelf,  within  reach  of 
my  hand,  a  thick  volume.  It  was  a  book  on  Anatomy. 
I  opened  it  just  at  the  place  where  the  illustration  re- 
produced the  animalcule  in  question.  The  instantaneous 
comparison  took  place  in  my  brain  and  made  me  utter 
an  exclamation  of  astonishment.  Sir  William,  who  was 
just  coming  in,  heard  it,  and  I  had  to  tell  him  the  cause. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  his  face.  Surprise 
made  him  open  his  eyes  wide,  and  then,  with  his  strong 
sense  of  humour,  his  poor  thin  nostrils  quivered  with 
laughter.  '  Eve  discovering  the  secrets  of  the  earthly 
Paradise,'  he  said.  His  face  then  quickly  recovered  its 
gravity ;  he  passed  his  hands  several  times  over  the  Bible 
as  though  caressing  it,  and,  in  a  broken  voice,  said  to  me, 
'  You  see  there  is  more  light  in  it  than  we  imagine.'  I 
quite  believe,  as  he  did,  that  there  is.  We  know  so  few 
things  about  this  world  and  about  ourselves !  Man  was 
created  last;  he  will  be  studied  last,  I  suppose.  We 
know  scarcely  anything  except  about  his  body,  and  that 


TOURAINE  377 

only  in  an  imperfect  way.  We  know  nothing  about  his 
powers  of  radiation,  his  invisible  forces,  his  soul.  He 
has  always  confessed  himself  badly  hitherto." 

"  You  think  so?  "  said  Monsieur  de  Lusson  in  a  mock- 
ing tone. 

"  Yes,  a  saint  or  the  very  purest  man  would  not,  I  am 
sure,  dare  to  reveal  himself  entirely.  I  flatter  myself 
on  having  lived  as  a  lady.  Well,  there  are  many 
thoughts,  instincts,  impulses  that  I  could  not  talk  about, 
and  I  know  that  these  would  furnish  valuable  help  to  the 
study  of  biology." 

"  Write  them." 

"  Impossible." 

"  How  inquisitive  you  make  me !  " 

"  Question  yourself  for  a  moment,  and  tell  me  if  it 
is  not  the  same  with  you." 

Monsieur  de  Lusson  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  table,  and  his 
gaze  was  turned  inwards  for  a  moment.  He  then  looked 
at  me  with  a  discomfited,  ashamed  expression  that  was 
very  droll. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  agree  with  you." 

"  It  is  science  alone  which,  by  teaching  man  what  he 
really  is,  can  give  him  the  courage  to  confess  himself." 

"  Science !  You  expect  too  much  from  it,  Madame 
de  Myeres.  It  has  not  yet  brought  us  one  single  proof 
of  our  immortality.  That  begins  to  make  me  anxious. 
You  believe  in  that,  don't  you?  " 

"  With  all  my  soul." 

"  By  virtue  of  what  ?  You  are  not  a  woman  to  con- 
tent yourself  with  promises.  Do  you  even  know  what 
we  are  doing  in  this  world?" 

"  We  are  just  simply  making  Life." 

My  host  took  off  his  eye-glass,  a  sign  of  great  pertur- 
bation with  him,  and  gazed  at  me  with  a  scared  look. 


378  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  We  are  making  Life,  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  visible  and  invisible  Life.  Do  you  think  that 
he  who  possesses  such  a  power  could  perish ! " 

"  Logically  no." 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  my  reason  for  believing.  Ac- 
cording to  my  idea,  those  who  have  made  sorrowful  or 
inferior  Life  will  finally  arrive  at  making  triumphant 
and  superior  Life.  We  are  all  in  the  hand  of  justice 
and  of  divine  justice." 

"  But  it  is  like  a  key,  that  conception." 

"  A  key  which  helps  marvellously  in  reading  the  secret 
writing  that  we  are ;  try  it.  It  has  permitted  me  to  un- 
derstand an  infinite  number  of  things.  By  another  path 
I  have  arrived  at  a  faith  which  is  quite  as  absolute  as 
Sir  Williams's.  Jesus  said,  '  In  my  Father's  house  are 
many  mansions.'  There  are  also,  no  doubt,  several  roads 
to  them." 

I  rose,  and  M.  de  Lusson  followed  my  example.  I 
held  out  my  hand  to  him;  he  raised  it  to  his  lips  and 
slowly,  as  though  penetrated  by  a  new  idea,  he  re- 
peated, "  We  are  making  Life." 

Commanderie  de  Rouziers. 

I  have  just  come  back  from  Chavigny.  I  have  knelt 
down  on  my  husband's  tomb;  I  have  taken  his  son 
back  to  the  home-nest,  and  a  divine  peace  has  entered 
into  me,  that  peace  which  manifests  itself,  I  fancy, 
when  there  is  union  between  the  forces  of  destiny  and 
the  forces  of  the  human  soul.  Ah,  the  struggle  has 
been  hard  and  has  lasted  sixteen  years.  I  can  feel, 
retrospectively,  the  living  thought  which  has  been  work- 
ing upon  me  and  which  has  subjugated  me.  All  the 
acts  by  which  I  thought  to  efface  the  past  made  it  more 
living;  all  the  steps  I  took  to  move  farther  away  from 
the  faithless  dead  man  brought  me  back  to  him.  My 


TOURAINE  379 

husband's  race,  which  was  destined  to  continue,  through 
and  in  spite  of  me,  will  continue  probably,  and  by 
my  intervention!  Oh,  the  fine  irony  of  it!  Formerly 
this  would  have  seemed  extremely  cruel  to  me;  to-day  I 
admire  it.  I  am  glad  to  have  been  able  to  make  the  effort 
that  it  demanded.  For  several  months  I  had  had  a  secret 
wish  to  take  the  forgiveness  and  the  repentance  I  had 
in  my  heart  to  my  husband.  Something  held  me  back. 
Heaven  knows  what  it  was!  As  soon  as  I  had  obtained 
for  his  son  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lusson,  I  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  go  to  my  husband.  I  was  the  first 
to  propose  a  visit  to  Chavigny.  The  engaged  couple, 
who  had  not  dared  to  ask  for  it,  were  wildly  happy,  and 
their  god-mother  had  to  endure  the  effusion  of  their  grat- 
itude. On  Monday  morning  we  started  for  Cher.  It 
was  one  of  those  ideal  days  when  it  seems  as  though  the 
air  is  full  of  caresses  and  promises  of  happiness.  The 
whole  journey,  three  hours  by  rail  and  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  by  carriage,  I  made  desperate  efforts  to  con- 
trol the  growing  tumult  of  my  feelings.  My  compan- 
ions knew  nothing  of  the  real  trial  which  awaited  me; 
they  were  only  thinking  of  the  painful  impression  of  this 
return  to  Chavigny!  Oh,  how  little  the  thought  of 
Chavigny  troubled  me!  I  was  thinking  of  that  poor 
tomb,  intentionally  neglected,  to  which  I  was  now  going 
for  the  first  time.  I  imagined  it  quite  deserted  and 
covered  with  bushes.  My  husband  had  bought  a  new 
piece  of  ground  to  the  right  of  his  family  vault.  We 
had  always  wished  to  be  buried  side  by  side,  out  in  the 
open  air.  I  had  contented  myself  with  sending  to  his 
sister  the  detailed  instructions  he  had  left,  and  I  had 
asked  her  to  give  the  priest  at  R —  a  certain  sum  to 
keep  his  last  resting-place  in  order.  The  question  was, 
had  all  this  been  done?  Whilst  we  were  driving  along 
in  the  carriage,  the  odiousness  of  my  conduct  presented 


380  ON  THE  BRANCH 

itself  to  my  mind  and  brought  a  fleeting  colour  to  my 
very  forehead.  Uneasy  at  my  silence,  Guy,  who  was 
seated  by  the  coachman,  turned  round  towards  me. 

"  Are  you  all  right,  god-mother?  "  he  asked,  with  the 
smile  he  had  taken  from  the  lips  of  his  father. 

I  could  only  answer  in  an  affirmative  and  friendly  way 
with  my  eyes.  As  we  approached  Chavigny,  Monsieur 
de  Lusson  put  his  hand  on  mine  and,  hiding  his  emotion 
by  a  joke,  said  — 

"  We  are  making  Life,  are  we  not,  Madame  de 
Myeres  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so,"  I  replied  gravely. 

He  little  thought  how  much  I  was  making  at  that 
moment !  I  wanted  to  go  straight  to  the  cemetery.  My 
companions  got  out  of  the  carriage  at  the  entrance 
to  the  avenue  leading  to  the  chateau,  and  I  continued 
driving.  It  was  only  a  few  minutes  farther  on.  As 
soon  as  I  was  alone,  a  sweet  and  poignant  emotion,  the 
emotion  of  love,  took  entire  possession  of  me.  I  had  the 
sensation  that  my  husband  was  awaiting  me,  and  at  every 
turn  of  the  wheel,  which  brought  me  nearer  to  this  dead 
man  who  had  become  so  living  again,  my  heart  beat  more 
and  more  violently  and  my  veins  throbbed.  On  arriving 
at  the  cemetery  gate,  my  hand,  which  had  not  forgotten 
the  secret  of  the  inside  latch,  unfastened  it  mechanically, 
and  it  opened  to  me.  As  though  in  a  dream,  I  moved 
onwards  towards  the  family  vault,  and  soon  found  my- 
self at  the  foot  of  my  husband's  tomb.  I  knelt  down 
and,  flinging  my  arms  over  the  railings,  as  though  to 
clasp  what  remained  of  him,  I  could  only  murmur  — 

"  My  poor  darling,  forgive  me."  I  could  not  find  any 
other  words.  Were  my  thoughts  affected  in  some  oc- 
cult way?  I  do  not  know,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
held  communion  with  him  and  that  "  we  made  it  up," 
as  the  children  say.  I  got  up  again  feeling  singularly 


TOURAINE  381 

happy.  Thank  heaven,  the  good  priest  had  acquitted 
himself  of  his  task  most  faithfully.  That  was  just  the 
sepulchre  that  my  husband  had  wished  to  have.  A  high 
railing  ran  round  it.  The  cross  of  wrought-iron,  with 
our  device :  "  Towards  the  Light,"  emerged  from  an 
enormous  rose-bush;  strong,  healthy  ivy  covered  the 
ground  and,  at  the  corners,  formed  climbing  bunches. 
I  saw  that  my  place  was  entirely  covered  with  grass. 
My  place!  I  gazed  at  it  with  a  joy  which  no  one  else 
would  be  able  to  understand.  I  recalled,  with  a  shudder, 
my  long  walks  in  search  of  a  last  resting-place;  I  had 
visited  all  the  cemeteries  of  Paris,  and  had  not  found 
enough  air  and  space  in  any  one  of  them.  Without 
knowing  it,  what  I  had  really  wanted  was  this  place 
by  the  side  of  my  life's  companion.  There  was  within 
me  an  instinct  which  claimed  it.  We  do  not  yet  know 
how  deep  the  union  may  be  between  human  creatures. 
With  all  my  heart,  as  well  as  with  my  eyes,  I  now  took 
possession  of  my  husband's  tomb  again.  I  timidly 
caressed  those  flowers  which  were  the  resurrection  of  his 
flesh.  To  my  sensibilised  fingers  they  seemed  to  be  in- 
vested with  a  living  fluid.  I  began  to  pick  off  the  faded 
leaves,  to  lift  up  certain  branches,  and  I  found  delicious 
pleasure  in  what  I  was  now  doing  for  the  first  time. 
I  had  lost  all  notion  of  the  time  that  had  gone  by,  and 
the  engaged  couple  grew  anxious  and  came  in  search 
of  me.  I  saw  them  at  once,  at  the  entrance  to  the 
cemetery,  and  made  a  sign  to  them  to  come  to  me. 
They  arrived  with  a  subdued  expression,  and  Guy  took 
off  his  hat. 

"  Dear  god-father,"  he  said  simply.  The  emotion  and 
affection  in  his  voice  reached  the  soul  of  his  father, 
perhaps.  I  looked  at  the  two  young  people  with  in- 
tense satisfaction.  Was  not  their  presence  at  this  place 
my  recompense?  And  this  recompense  was  certainly 


382  ON  THE  BRANCH 

not  due  to  chance.  As  I  was  moving  away,  after  a 
last  farewell  to  our  dear  one,  some  brambles  caught  the 
bottom  of  my  skirt.  I  tried  to  free  myself,  but  did 
not  succeed,  and  Guy  had  to  help  me.  He  was  seized 
with  superstitious  dread,  and  I  saw  him  turn  pale  and 
look  at  me  with  sudden  anxiety. 

"It  is  as  though  your  god-father  wanted  to  keep 
me,"  I  said  gaily ;  "  it  would  be  only  natural,  for  he  has 
been  alone  so  long." 

We  went  back  again  in  the  direction  of  Chavigny. 
As  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of  it  I  was  struck,  as  I  had 
never  been  before,  by  the  harmony  produced  by  its 
ancient  lines,  the  warm  tone  of  its  grey  stone,  the  scenery 
against  which  it  stands  in  relief.  It  scarcely  deserves 
the  name  of  chateau,  but  has  always  been  called  so.  On 
the  whole,  though,  in  spite  of  the  modesty  of  its  propor- 
tions, it  has  an  imposing  look.  I  am  not  surprised  that 
it  appealed  to  the  imagination  of  my  little  friend.  When 
we  entered  the  courtyard,  my  eyes  turned  at  once  to  the 
fatal  flight  of  steps  and,  as  though  something  within  me 
still  felt  the  old  affront,  I  coloured  painfully.  Guy 
jumped  out  of  the  carriage  first,  and  lifting  me  in  his 
strong  arms,  said  — 

"  Home,  god-mother,  dear." 

I  could  not  repeat  the  sacred  word.  There  was  no 
longer  any  home  for  me  in  this  world,  I  knew  that 
very  well. 

We  were  to  lunch  at  the  farm.  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame de  Lusson  were  waiting  for  us  there.  I  sent  the 
young  people  on.  With  a  sort  of  shyness  of  the  soul, 
I  wanted  to  see  the  old  home  again  quite  alone.  I 
went  all  through  it,  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  house, 
with  an  emotion  which  almost  suffocated  me.  The 
large  pieces  of  furniture  were  still  there.  The  windows 
had  been  opened,  fires  lighted  in  the  drawing-rooms, 


TOURAINE  383 

and  the  sun  was  streaming  in.  In  spite  of  all  that,  I 
immediately  had  the  impression  of  an  empty  nest  which 
had  been  cold  for  a  long  time.  I  felt  my  incapacity 
to  bring  back  life  there,  and  I  rejoiced  to  think  that 
this  care  had  fallen  to  others.  Not  one  regret  came  to 
trouble  me.  When  my  visit  was  over,  I  went  towards 
the  farm  with  a  light  step.  As  soon  as  I  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  room  where  the  table  was  laid,  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  de  Lusson,  Guy  and  Josee  looked 
at  me  with  a  questioning  expression,  as  though  to  find 
out  how  I  had  endured  the  trial. 

"  Jean  Noel  has  just  had  a  new  experience,"  I  said 
gaily.  "  What  one  calls  the  '  state  of  soul '  is  one  of  the 
most  admirable  things  that  Nature  creates.  If  Cha- 
vigny  were  offered  to  me  with  an  income  of  eight  thou- 
sand pounds,  I  would  not  accept  it.  It  needs  very  much 
life  and  very  much  affection  to  warm  it  again.  Only 
these  young  people  are  capable  of  doing  it,"  I  added, 
pointing  to  the  engaged  pair.  "  As  to  what  there  is 
now  of  me,  why,  there  is  just  enough  left  to  fill  my 
rooms  at  the  Hotel  de  Castiglione,  and  no  more." 

Josee  put  her  arm  round  my  neck  and  her  cheek 
against  mine. 

"  And  enough  to  make  every  one  else  happy,"  she 
said  prettily. 

During  luncheon  I  spoke  of  the  changes  to  be  made 
at  the  chateau,  and  this  with  a  pleasure  and  freedom 
of  mind  which  could  not  leave  any  doubt  about  my  sin- 
cerity. After  coffee,  as  we  were  strolling  about  the  farm, 
I  saw,  about  a  hundred  yards  away  from  the  dairy 
buildings,  a  rustic-looking  house  which  was  unfamiliar 
and  which  was  uninhabited.  It  had  been  built,  it  ap- 
pears, by  a  man  whose  experiments  in  horticulture  had 
not  succeeded,  and  the  owners  of  Chavigny  had  then 
bought  it. 


384  ON  THE  BRANCH 

"  Why,  there's  a  cottage  for  the  boys,"  exclaimed 
Guy,  examining  it. 

Josee  coloured  with  pleasure. 

"  I  had  thought  of  that,  had  I  not,  father?  "  she  said, 
smiling. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Monsieur  de  Lusson.  "  Do  you 
know  I  believe  that  Providence  judged  it  necessary  to 
provide  a  god-father  for  this  young  person  who  was 
intending  to  educate  men  alone." 

"  If  so,  I  am  precious  glad  that  the  choice  fell  on 
me,"  answered  my  boy,  with  a  fond  look  at  Josee. 
"  With  six  boys  we  shall  be  able  to  make  an  experiment 
in  rearing  human  beings.  That  will  be  very  interest- 
ing." 

"  Bravo,"  I  said.  "  I  was  selfishly  happy  here ;  you 
will  be  nobly  happy.  Truly  the  world  is  moving  on- 
wards ! " 

We  slept  at  the  village  of  R — ,  a  large  village  well 
provided  with  everything  necessary,  and,  thanks  to  the 
Touring  Club,  the  little  hotel  was  very  clean.  My  recon- 
ciliation with  my  husband  was  so  thorough  that  I  felt 
as  though  I  had  gone  back  to  the  past.  I  paid  a  long 
visit  to  the  priest,  and  saw  again  with  pleasure  all  the 
good  people  I  used  to  know.  They  said  to  me  on  every 
side,  "  Madame  has  been  travelling,  has  she  not ;  madame 
has  been  living  in  foreign  countries?"  And  all  that 
did  not  cause  me  any  embarrassment.  I  was  very  much 
touched  to  see  how  the  memory  of  us  both  had  remained 
in  the  hearts  of  all  these  rough  peasants  of  Berry.  No, 
the  little  deeds  of  kindness  and  the  cordial  words  which  we 
scatter  on  our  path  through  life  are  not  lost.  This 
journey  was  a  satisfaction  for  all  of  us.  I  am  sure, 
though,  that  it  did  not  give  to  the  others,  not  even  to  the 
engaged  pair,  such  joy  as  I  experienced.  I  felt  myself 
grow  young  inwardly.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  loved 


TOURAINE  385 

again,  as  in  the  olden  days.  This  was,  no  doubt,  an 
illusion  of  my  imagination,  but  no  matter,  it  was  very 
sweet.  And  I  understand  now  the  value  of  that  gift 
which  Jesus  made  to  His  followers  when  He  said,  "  I  give 
you  peace/' 

Commanderie  de  Rouziers. 

Well,  my  mission  here  is  over,  and  I  return  to  Paris 
to-morrow.  I  am  going  to  stay,  not  at  the  Hotel  de 
Castiglione,  but  at  my  god-son's,  in  the  Rue  d'Agues- 
seau.  Still  another  thing  that  I  should  have  thought 
impossible.  The  fatality  continues.  It  happens  that 
my  rooms  are  at  present  occupied  by  neither  more  nor 
less  a  personage  than  the  son  of  an  exiled  king.  Other 
rooms  were  offered  to  me  in  the  mean  time,  and  I  would 
willingly  have  taken  them,  but  Guy,  who  wishes  to 
domesticate  me,  at  once  offered  me  hospitality.  He 
declared  that,  after  living  for  five  weeks  in  the  warm 
atmosphere  of  the  "  Commanderie,"  the  hotel  would  be 
too  cold,  and  that  his  bachelor's  flat  would  serve  as  a 
transition.  He  added  a  crowd  of  foolish  reasons.  The 
Lussons  and  Josee  united  with  him,  and  I  yielded.  Ah, 
my  independence,  there  is  not  much  of  it  left!  Louis 
was  sent  on  first.  His  sister,  who  had  been  a  cook  at 
Bordeaux  and  had  come  to  Paris  to  look  for  a  place,  is 
to  keep  house  for  us. 

It  was  agreed  that  we  should  return  to  Paris  by  auto- 
mobile. I  was  rejoicing,  like  a  child,  at  the  thought  of 
going  at  full  speed  across  the  open  space  of  the 
Beauce  plains.  Guy  took  it  into  his  head,  all  at  once, 
that  the  season  was  too  advanced  for  me,  that  I  should 
risk  taking  cold,  and  he  begged  me  to  be  prudent  and 
go  by  train.  I  protested  with  all  my  force,  and  finally 
declared  that  I  would  not  go  to  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau 
unless  he  took  me  in  his  automobile.  He  had  to  give 


386  ON  THE  BRANCH 

in,  in  his  turn,  not  without  making  me  promise  to  get 
into  the  train  at  Orleans  if  I  found  the  air  too  cold.  It 
is  true  that  it  is  now  the  tenth  of  November,  and  that 
this  year  Saint  Martin  has  not  cheated  us  of  his  sum- 
mer, for  the  weather  is  superb.  This  afternoon  I  shall 
start  for  Tours,  and  shall  sleep  at  the  Hotel  de  1'Univers, 
and  then  to-morrow,  at  eight  o'clock,  we  shall  set  out 
on  our  journey.  My  trunk  is  packed;  everything  is 
ready.  I  have  a  pang  at  my  heart  as  though  I  were 
starting  on  a  long,  long  voyage.  It  is  quite  ridiculous. 
The  Lussons  will  be  back  in  Paris  in  a  fortnight.  We 
shall  all  come  to  the  "  Commanderie "  again  at  the 
end  of  April,  after  the  marriage  of  the  children.  I  shall 
see  the  trees  and  hedges  in  bloom.  I  shall  revel  in  a 
real  spring.  How  good  and  restful  it  will  be !  It  is  cu- 
rious that,  for  the  last  few  months,  rest  has  become  my 
idea  of  happiness.  Have  I  suddenly  grown  old?  Am 
I  so  very  weary,  then? 


XI 

PAEIS 

Rue  d'Aguesseau,  Paris. 

"  MY  child,  your  vanity  will  be  your  ruin."  These 
words,  which  my  poor  mother  repeated  so  often  during 
my  childhood  and  youth,  keep  coming  to  my  memory. 
They  were  certainly  prophetic.  I  did  not  like  the  idea 
of  being  treated  as  an  old  woman  and  of  coming  back 
prudently  by  train.  I  wanted  to  go  one  last  journey 
alone  with  Guy  in  his  bachelor's  automobile.  It  gave 
me  a  frightful  cold,  a  dreadful  cold.  Whatever  may 
be  the  consequences  of  my  obstinacy,  I  shall  never  re- 
gret it.  That  run  from  Tours  to  Paris  was  bewitching. 
Wrapped  in  my  long  mink-lined  cloak,  covered  with  fur 
rugs,  a  hot-water  bottle  for  my  feet,  and  seated  proudly 
by  my  boy,  I  experienced  a  physical  well-being  that  was 
perfect,  and  then  that  superhuman  sensation  of  rushing 
through  space,  of  devouring  distance.  In  Beauce  it 
seemed  to  me  that  we  were  flying  along  the  ground,  over 
the  surface  of  the  globe,  and  that  we  should  j  oin  the  set- 
ting sun  beyond  the  horizon.  During  the  dizzy  descent 
which  leads  to  Dourdan,  where  the  road  disappears,  where 
one  sees  nothing  but  the  valley  right  down  to  the  bottom, 
yawning  like  an  abyss,  I  had  an  impression  of  an  in- 
visible, irresistible  force  urging  us  on,  and  I  held  my 
breath  until  we  reached  the  bottom.  Several  times  I 
asked  Guy  to  increase  the  speed;  he  refused  to  do  this, 
and  we  did  not  exceed  about  thirty  miles  an  hour.  When 
we  arrived  at  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau  I  was  literally  intox- 
387 


388  ON  THE  BRANCH 

icated  with  air,  and  my  god-son  lifted  me  out  of  the  auto- 
mobile like  a  parcel.  The  atmosphere  of  his  bachelor 
home,  well  warmed,  well  lighted,  and  all  decorated  with 
flowers  in  my  honour,  seemed  to  me  delightful.  He  has 
given  me  his  library  as  a  writing-room,  and  the  bed- 
room adjoining  it.  Before  sitting  down  to  table  we  went 
to  look  at  Colette's  portrait.  The  play  of  the  flames 
from  the  fire-place  made  it  look  living,  and  we  both  of  us 
had  the  illusion  that  it  was  smiling  at  us.  Our  little 
tete-a-tete  dinner  was  exquisite.  My  host  looked  after 
me  all  the  time,  as  though  I  were  a  precious  being.  I 
had  almost  forgotten  the  sweetness  of  that  sensation. 
We  talked  until  very  late.  I  fought  against  the  sleepi- 
ness which  was  taking  possession  of  me,  in  order  to  pro- 
long the  consciousness  of  that  warmth,  that  security 
which  seemed  to  me  so  good,  and  I  was  sorry  to  go  to  bed. 
This  morning,  towards  seven  o'clock,  I  was  roused  by  a 
prolonged,  severe  shiver.  Then,  between  the  walls,  as 
it  were,  of  my  body,  there  was  a  sort  of  furious  break- 
ing loose  of  forces,  a  feeling  of  illness  which  manifested 
itself  by  a  violent  pain  in  my  right  side,  a  convulsive 
cough,  and  a  sudden  feeling  of  oppression.  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  to  finish  dressing.  Ashamed  and  hu- 
miliated, I  was  obliged  to  tell  Guy  that  I  had  taken 
cold. 

"  Decidedly,"  I  added,  between  two  fits  of  coughing, 
"  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  did  not  want  to  think  so,  but 
I  shall  remember  it  another  time  and  be  more  docile." 

"  People  can  take  cold  at  any  age,  god-mother  dear," 
he  replied,  with  his  nicest  smile.  "  I  am  sorry  you  have 
such  a  bad  cold,  but  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  take  care 
of  you  in  my  turn.  I  would  not  have  had  you  go  to 
the  hotel  for  anything  in  the  world." 

I  was  very  careful  not  to  let  him  guess  that  I  regretted 
not  being  alone  if  I  had  to  suffer. 


PARIS  389 

Pneumonia  .  .  .  only  that !  When  Dr.  H — 
raised  his  head  after  sounding  me,  I  saw  a  troubled  and 
pained  expression  in  his  eyes.  He  must  have  been  told 
that  I  had  come  back  from  Tours  in  an  open  automobile. 

"  Oh,  Madame  de  Myeres,"  he  said,  "  there  are  things 
one  can  do  at  forty  which  are  dangerous  at  fifty-eight." 

Rather  hard,  but  quite  right.  I  am  persuaded, 
though,  that  in  the  state  I  was  in,  even  a  drive  in  the 
Bois  would  have  laid  me  low  just  the  same.  This  sud- 
den illness  was  quite  a  revelation.  Since  that  fever, 
caused  by  grief,  which  I  had  after  the  death  of  my 
husband  I  have  never  had  had  to  stay  in  bed  or  in  my 
room.  With  the  help  of  Dr.  H —  I  have  struggled  vic- 
toriously with  rheumatism,  and  I  thought  that  was  my 
only  enemy.  For  a  long  time,  though,  I  have  heard  cu- 
rious noises,  whistlings  and  twitterings  in  my  bronchial 
tubes  and  in  my  chest.  I  was  not  aware  that  the  respira- 
tory organs  and  one  lung  was  getting  choked  up.  Ig- 
norant old  woman  that  I  was!  And  now  they  are  af- 
fected. I  should  like  to  have  used  a  knife  to  free  them ! 
We  are  taught  to  examine  our  conscience  before  pre- 
senting ourselves  to  the  priest,  but  we  are  not  taught  to 
study  our  body  before  presenting  ourselves  to  the  doctor. 
The  doctor!  He  ought  to  be  the  working  engineer  of 
the  human  machine,  and  not  only  its  repairer.  He  ought 
to  visit  those  whom  he  attends  as  often  as  possible,  to 
make  sure  of  the  working  of  the  wheels,  of  the  good  con- 
dition of  all  the  organs ;  perhaps  there  would  then  be  no 
more  bronchitis  nor  pneumonia  nor  tuberculosis !  In  the 
twentieth  century  we  send  for  the  doctor  when  we  are  ill. 
We  leave  to  disease  the  case  of  purifying  our  organism ! 
It  often  does  this  for  us,  but  never  without  enfeebling 
or  injuring  it.  That  seems  to  me  inconceivable  now- 
a-days !  We  do  not  yet  know  how  to  care  for  our  body. 
A  chauffeur  would  never  act  in  this  way  with  his  machine. 


390  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  have  just  been  proving  that  to  Guy.  He  ought  to 
profit  by  the  lesson.  He  recognised  the  truth  of  what 
I  said,  and  his  dear  face  lighted  up,  his  child-like  re- 
morse vanished. 

"  Neither  you,  nor  I,  nor  the  automobile  is  responsi- 
ble," I  added.  "  The  pneumonia  was  there ;  it  would 
have  had  to  declare  itself.  We  did  not  know  it  was 
there,  that  was  all,  and  probably  we  were  not  to  know. 
The  only  thing  left  is  to  be  brave.  Let  us  both  be  so." 

We  clasped  hands  for  a  moment,  and  there  was  a 
silent  understanding  between  us,  which  made  us  strong 
and  happy  again. 

Did  I  not  tell  Sir  William  that  there  would  be,  some- 
where, a  kind  Sister  of  Charity  destined  to  tend  me  at 
the  last?  She  is  here,  and  her  name  is  Sister  Anne. 
Her  spiritualised  face  charms  me,  her  hands  are  re- 
spectful and  tender.  From  a  hundred  little  details 
I  know  that  she  is  a  lady,  and  nothing  equals  that. 
She  is  seconded  admirably  by  Rose,  Louis'  sister.  I 
feel  that  I  am  surrounded  by  human  sympathy  and 
devotion,  and  this  cheers  me.  Providence,  the  Great 
Misunderstood,  has  given  me  still  more.  It  has  obliged 
me  to  open  my  heart  to  my  husband's  son,  that  is  true, 
but  was  it  not  so  that  this  son  might  help  me  to  cross 
the  bar?  Did  it  not  wish  to  give  me  a  reflection  of  the 
father's  love?  Dear  Guy,  he  really  loves  this  coughing, 
feverish,  rattling  thing  that  I  now  am.  I  have  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  getting  him  to  leave  me  and  to 
go  and  have  a  breath  of  fresh  air  out  of  doors.  I 
have  insisted  on  his  going  out  for  an  automobile  drive. 
He  hates  it  now  as  a  child  might.  I  do  not  want  him 
to  sulk  with  his  innocent  machine,  that  admirable 
Panhard  which  gave  me  such  rare  pleasure.  I  refuse 
to  stay  in  bed,  and  I  spend  the  whole  day  in  the  library, 
lying  on  the  sofa,  dressed  in  a  tea-gown  which  I  had 


PARIS  391 

the  happy  inspiration  to  have  made  before  going  to 
Aix-les-Bains,  and  which  I  wanted  to  have  particularly 
elegant.  In  this  way  I  fancy  myself  less  ill.  I  am  glad 
to  be  under  Colette's  eyes.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
expression  of  her  portrait  changes  every  minute.  I 
have  books  all  around  me,  my  papers  within  reach  of 
my  hand,  and  a  bright  wood  fire.  Between  the  frame 
of  the  French  window  I  see  the  little  sleeping  garden, 
with  its  fine  sycamore  trees.  It  is  full  of  birds  —  spar- 
rows and  robins  —  which  Louis  feeds  conscientiously. 
All  this  is  better  than  a  private  hospital,  which  was 
my  secret  terror.  I  must  be  grateful,  yes,  but  I  suffer 
terribly.  How  painful  this  pneumonia  is! 

An  injection  of  heroine!  Under  the  magic  of  this 
new  remedy  my  sufferings  have  diminished  and  my  mind 
has  acquired  greater  lucidity.  Science  can  do  this  much 
for  me,  but  no  more,  I  fear.  No  matter,  it  shall  be 
blessed  and  thanked  for  this.  Thanks  to  the  welcome 
heroine  I  shall  be  able  to  face  death.  Jean  Noel  will 
not  put  down,  until  the  very  last  moment,  this  American 
pen  with  which  he  has  written  so  many,  many  pages. 
The  dear  pen,  it  has  a  beautiful  gold  point ;  its  hollow 
holder,  filled  with  ink,  is  agreeable  to  the  touch.  It 
is  the  most  precious  of  my  possessions.  For  a  long 
time  I  was  troubled  as  to  whom  I  should  leave  it;  I 
am  glad  to  be  able  to  give  it  to  "  my  boy."  He  will 
handle  it  with  affection,  I  know.  Between  his  fingers 
it  will,  perhaps,  do  better  work  than  between  mine. 
Above  this  suffering  chest,  in  which  all  the  organs  are 
congested,  my  head  remains  clear  and  free,  as  though 
one  did  not  belong  to  the  other.  Curiously  enough, 
for  the  first  time,  and  it  is  certainly  late  enough  for 
that,  I  notice  the  rapidity  with  which  images  succeed 
each  other  within  us,  and  their  apparent  want  of  con- 


392  ON  THE  BRANCH 

nection.  I  say  apparent,  for,  probably,  only  the  tenuity 
of  their  weaving  prevents  me  from  distinguishing  this. 
Within  the  space  of  a  few  seconds  I  have  just  seen 
in  my  mind  the  face  of  a  person  whom  I  have  not  met 
for  forty  years;  the  eyes  of  a  distant  friend;  the  style 
of  a  tailor  costume ;  the  statue  of  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi 
in  a  church  at  Foligno  in  Italy;  a  polychrome  statue 
clothed  in  a  frayed-out  sackcloth  garment  to  the  knees; 
one  of  Footit's  grimaces;  the  pattern  of  the  dress  of 
one  of  my  dolls  —  a  white  lozenge  design  on  a  blue 
ground ;  the  doll's  little  wrap  —  a  hideous  arrangement, 
with  holes  for  the  arms,  called  a  visite.  The  head  of  the 
said  doll  did  not  come  to  my  remembrance  again.  Is 
this  not  strange?  It  seems  to  me  that  brain-cells  must 
be  like  the  dots  in  the  eye  of  the  marguerite.  Accord- 
ing to  the  corresponding  nerve  that  is  touched,  they 
open  and  give,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  what 
they  contain  —  an  image,  an  idea,  a  memory.  What  is 
it  that  makes  such  or  such  a  nerve  vibrate?  I  certainly 
do  not  know. 

My  boy,  who  does  not  like  to  appear  to  treat  me 
as  a  dying  person,  keeps  me  well  informed  about  all 
subjects,  political  and  social  news  and  everything  else. 
This  morning  he  was  talking  to  me  of  radium  and  of 
its  fantastical  properties.  A  stream  of  joy  and  hope 
seemed  to  enter  into  me.  Light,  warmth,  electricity, 
inexhaustible  radiation,  beams  equal  to  its  own !  They 
are  found,  then,  the  elements  of  immortality!  Is  not 
immortality  the  perpetual  movement  of  the  soul?  How 
can  we  admit  that  matter  possesses  all  these  things, 
and  that  they  are  not  in  superior  force  in  all  that 
which  has  life.  Oh,  science  will  arrive  at  that,  at 
the  radio-activity  of  the  human  being.  Science  will 
come  to  that  at  the  right  moment.  When  Madame 
Curie  went  along,  heaping  up  calculations  upon  cal- 


PARIS  393 

culations,  formula  upon  formula,  did  she  suspect  the 
existence  of  this  extraordinary  body?  I  would  wager 
that  she  did  not.  And  it  was  not  chance  that  made 
of  her  an  active  instrument  in  this  immense  discovery. 
It  seems  to  me  that  Providence  wished,  in  this  way, 
to  give  to  woman  her  letters-patent  of  true  nobility 
and  emancipation.  As  soon  as  I  am  cured  I  shall  go 
and  present  my  homage  to  radium  and  to  the  woman 
who  freed  it  from  its  gangue.  Oh,  I  must  see  this 
miraculous  salt.  Has  it  not  always  been  said  that  salt 
is  the  wisdom  of  the  earth ! 

As  soon  as  I  am  cured!  Hm!  —  in  the  mean  time  I 
have  made  my  will  again.  I  leave  my  little  friend  to 
distribute  my  nomad's  baggage.  It  is  not  heavy,  but 
it  may  make  a  few  happy  people,  nevertheless.  As  to 
the  old  trunk,  my  faithful  companion,  I  wish  that  to  be 
burned.  I  certainly  owe  it  the  honours  of  an  auto- 
da-fe.  Some  of  the  money  which  I  have  not  put  into 
my  annuity  will  serve  to  recompense  certain  services 
which  have  been  very  pleasant  to  me.  The  remainder 
is  to  be  used  for  the  purchase  of  a  string  of  beautiful 
pearls,  my  wedding  present  to  Josee.  When  her  fingers 
touch  them,  the  image  of  her  god-mother  will  appear 
again  in  her  mind  and  cause  a  fond  thought.  Human 
thought  arrives,  perhaps,  as  far  as  the  Beyond!  After 
radium,  I  can  believe  in  all  possibilities.  The  thought 
of  it  haunts  me.  I  have  left  the  money  from  my  books 
for  bringing  up  six  boys.  There  will  be  twelve  in  the 
Chavigny  Cottage,  and  my  work,  in  this  world,  will 
thus  be  perpetuated  for  a  long  time  to  come.  What 
could  be  imagined  finer  than  that!  The  perspective 
of  being  driven  in  a  funeral  hearse,  when  dead, 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  in  the  midst  of  living 
people  has  always  seemed  to  me  humiliating  and  in- 


394  ON  THE  BRANCH 

tolerable.     I  am  asking  to  be  taken  straight  to  R . 

The  good  priest  there  will  receive  me  and  take  me  to 
my  last  home.  No  hideous  funeral  cards  with  black 
borders.  On  my  visiting  cards  I  have  written  "  P.P.C." 
Guy  will  put  the  date  and  send  them  to  the  people 
whom  I  have  indicated.  There  are  not  many  of  them, 
but  each  one  will  have  a  feeling  of  sincere  regret.  I 
have  made  all  these  preparations  as  though  in  a  dream. 
Once  only  I  broke  down  with  sorrow  for  myself,  and 
nervous  tears  filled  my  eyes.  In  the  depths  of  my 
heart,  do  I  believe  in  my  departure?  Perhaps  not! 

I  wanted  to  see  my  publisher.  We  have  always 
been  on  pleasant  terms.  With  him  the  business  side 
is  so  straightforwardly  managed  that  it  does  not  pre- 
vent friendship  and  congenial  feeling.  He  was  visibly 
shocked  on  seeing  me  grappling  with  pneumonia.  I 
tried  to  continue  our  usual  jesting  tone,  in  order  to 
put  him  at  his  ease.  He  had  not  the  courage  to  answer 
me.  When  I  said  to  him,  though,  that  I  looked  upon 
novels  and  all  books  as  veritable  accumulators,  and 
bookshops  as  the  sources  of  intellectual  energy,  he 
began  to  laugh,  and  that  dispelled  our  emotion.  I 
recommended  to  his  care  my  two  last-born  children. 
If  I  am  not  destined  to  see  them  appear,  he  will  take 
more  pains  still  to  ensure  their  success,  I  am  sure.  He 
said  the  most  hopeful  words,  and  through  his  kiss  on 
my  hand  I  felt  the  warmth  of  sincere  affection.  The 
relations  between  publisher  and  author  ought  to  be  of 
the  most  elevated  nature.  In  their  transactions  there 
ought  to  be  not  only  honesty,  but  honour.  The  pub- 
lisher who  pays  the  sacred  work  of  thought  poorly,  or 
who  does  not  pay  with  scrupulous  conscientiousness 
the  rights  due  to  the  author  is  only  a  trader  of  low 
degree,  fit  for  *;he  lowest  market-place.  After  the  de- 


PARIS  395 

parture  of  my  visitor  a  smile  came  to  my  lips.  I  re- 
membered our  first  interview.  I  had,  of  course,  chosen 
one  of  my  propitious  days  to  take  my  manuscript  to  the 

Rue  A .     In  spite  of  that  I  was  not  at  all  reassured. 

I  went  very  slowly  up  the  staircase  of  the  famous 
publishing  house.  After  sending  up  my  card  I  sat 
down  on  the  bench  where  people  wait,  facing  a  huge 
clock  which  looked  as  though  it  were  making  fun  of 
me.  I  saw  myself  in  the  centre  of  an  open  square,  the 
bhree  sides  of  which  were  formed  by  yellow  and  green 
books,  and  above  these  a  gallery  with  desks  ornamented 
by  lamps  with  shades.  Oh,  there  was  no  room  lost 
there!  Heads  covered  with  round  caps,  heads  of  men 
who  had  been  there  since  the  founding  of  the  business, 
were  to  be  seen  here  and  there.  Ladders  rolled  along 
on  iron  rods.  The  silence  was  only  interrupted  by  the 
call  for  some  volume  and  by  the  bang  with  which  the 
said  volume  was  thrown  on  the  counter.  In  this  square, 
which  seemed  like  a  bee-hive  to  me,  I  noticed  that  there 
was  well  organised  activity,  but  it  was  not  joyous,  not 
at  all  modern.  The  atmosphere  seemed  to  be  rigid, 
rather  discouraging.  I  entered  the  editorial  office,  fully 
persuaded  that  I  had  come  to  the  wrong  place.  I  was 
received,  not  with  any  effusion,  certainly,  for  one  cannot 
imagine  an  elderly  woman  with  a  manuscript  being  re- 
ceived with  effusion ;  that  would  have  been  inconceivable, 
but  the  reception  which  I  had  was  all  that  could  be 
desired  as  regards  politeness.  I  was  told  that  my  novel 
would  be  read.  I  could  not  have  hoped  for  more  than 
that.  To  be  brief,  it  was  read,  and  accepted,  and  Jean 
Noel  signed  his  first  contract  at  the  age  of  fifty-two, 
not  a  day  too  soon.  It  was  not  long  before  success  had 
created  between  my  publisher  and  me  a  sort  of  good 
humour,  out  of  which  a  cordial  friendship  sprang.  The 
beehive  of  Rue  A has  now  become  familiar  and 


396  ON  THE  BRANCH 

dear  to  me.  Most  of  its  workers  have  done  something 
for  my  books,  one  of  them  looked  over  my  proofs, 
another  opened  up  the  way  for  them  abroad,  this  one 
packed  them,  that  one  sent  them  off.  Ah,  well,  I  am 
grateful  to  them  all.  I  could  not  have  done  without 
them.  When  one  examines  Life  thoroughly,  one  has 
no  difficulty  in  realising  the  solidarity  and  fraternity  of 
it.  That  literary  debut  seems  to  me  so  far  back  now! 
It  is  curious  how  everything  seems  to  go  further  back. 
Just  as  the  aeronaut  has  the  sensation  that  the  earth  is 
disappearing  from  him,  so  I  have  a  sensation  that  the 
past  is  leaving  me.  One  of  the  effects  of  heroine  per- 
haps. 

Twenty-four  hours  of  calm,  another  long  shudder,  a 
stitch  in  the  left  side  and  the  second  lung  affected. 
With  what  am  I  to  breathe  now?  Sir  William  endured 
this  torture  of  suffocation  a  whole  year  without 
heroine.  And  he  did  not  put  an  end  to  it.  I  cry  out 
for  air,  for  oxygen,  just  as  he  used  to  do.  I  remem- 
bered that  pneumonia  was  contagious,  and  I  asked  the 
doctor  to  disinfect  the  room,  the  library,  me  myself  as 
much  as  possible,  and  to  make  use  of  all  the  means 
science  has  put  at  his  disposal,  without  any  ridiculous 
scruples.  He  was  glad  that  the  initiative  came  from  me. 
He  is  going  to  take  advantage  of  that  to  try  some  new 
substance.  The  idea  that  I  have  brought  infection  into 
this  pretty  home,  which  was  so  fresh  and  so  whole- 
some, that  I  may  be  a  danger  for  those  who  are  with 
me,  is  more  painful  to  me  than  the  perspective  of 
death.  Death!  Sir  William  was  not  mistaken,  the 
nearer  one  gets  to  it,  the  less  terrible  it  appears.  That 
I  will  affirm  and  will  vouch  for.  I  wish  to  render  that 
justice  to  Nature.  She  certainly  prepares  the  individual 
for  it.  During  the  night  I  was  thinking  of  love,  of 


PARIS  397 

youth,  of  success,  of  distant  journeys,  of  whist  and 
bridge,  and  not  one  of  those  things  roused  any  regret 
in  me.  Ah,  no  thank  you,  I  am  very  much  too  tired! 
The  idea  of  escaping  infirmities  and  extreme  old  age 
would  have  consoled  me  for  dying  at  twenty.  Vanity 
can  become  a  force.  If  death  were  not  sent  to  us,  we 
should  ask  for  it.  It  is  still  a  scarecrow  to  us  because 
humanity  is  very  young,  but  when  it  has  reached  the 
age  of  manhood  it  will  see  death  in  its  true  aspect, 
and  will  await  it  with  serenity.  One  day  in  Kirby's 
window,  in  the  Rue  Auber,  I  saw  some  flowers  which, 
after  being  dipped  in  a  certain  composition,  could  be 
preserved  indefinitely.  In  appearance,  neither  their 
form  nor  their  colour  had  changed,  and  yet  they  had 
lost  their  subtle  and  mysterious  charm.  The  flowers 
must  die,  and  man  must  die.  It  is  death  which  makes 
the  value  of  life. 

I  have  made  my  kind  Sister  Anne  very  happy.  This 
morning,  as  she  moved  about  round  me,  she  looked 
at  me  with  an  anxious  expression.  I  called  her  to  me 
and,  smiling,  asked  her  to  go  and  fetch  me  a  priest. 
That  was  what  she  wanted,  I  had  guessed  it.  Her 
sweet  face  brightened  with  spiritual  joy,  and  that  joy 
proved  to  be  a  very  elevated  and  very  disinterested 
sentiment.  She  was  anxious  about  my  soul  and  wished 
for  my  salvation.  That  is  what  I  call  fraternity,  if  I 
understand  the  word  rightly.  With  the  intuition  of 
people  who  believe,  she  doubted  my  orthodoxy  and 
feared,  perhaps,  that  I  was  hostile  to  religion.  Heaven 
preserve  me!  I  do  not  approve  of  the  Japanese  chil- 
dren who,  on  leaving  school,  break  the  nose  of  the 
fox-god  which  their  parents  used  to  adore.  All  beliefs, 
all  superstitions  even,  mark  the  halting-places  of  the 
progress  of  humanity.  They  are  our  data,  and  we  must 


398 

respect  them.  On  my  entrance  into  this  world  I  was 
blessed  with  the  rites  of  the  Catholic  Church.  On  my 
departure  I  wish  to  be  blessed  in  the  same  way.  Then, 
too,  a  great  and  haunting  desire  has  come  to  me,  it  is 
to  receive  the  viaticum.  The  germ  of  this  desire  was 
sown  in  me  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  During  a 
Trouville  season  I  went  one  Sunday  to  service  at  the 
church  frequented  by  the  visitors,  in  order  to  exhibit 
a  certain  dress  of  blue  silk  with  white  spots  made  by 
a  good  dressmaker.  Was  not  that  woman-like?  That 
day  there  was  to  be  music  and  a  sermon  for  the  profit 
of  some  charitable  mission.  The  sermon,  preached  by 
a  Dominican,  was  on  the  Eucharist.  The  manly  and 
vibrating  voice  of  tha  monk  captivated  my  ear,  his 
words  laid  hold  of  me.  Unconsciously,  perhaps,  or  by 
a  marvellous  intuition,  he  gave  an  exposition  of  the 
dogma  in  a  more  scientific  than  theological  way.  He 
declared  that  communion  was  a  law  of  Nature.  After 
showing  us  that  we  hold  communion  in  love,  in  friend- 
ship, with  light,  with  all  the  forces  of  existence,  he 
showed  us  logically  the  possibility,  the  necessity  of 
communion  with  God,  the  Eternal  Source  of  Life.  I 
was  deeply  moved.  "  Yes,  why  not  ?  "  I  murmured  in 
a  low  voice.  My  serene  incredulity  was  shaken  for  the 
first  time.  Four  hundred  years  earlier  such  a  sermon 
would  have  taken  the  Dominican  to  the  stake.  I  gazed 
attentively  at  his  face  so  that  I  should  not  forget  it. 
It  was  a  fine  human  mask,  energetic,  intelligent,  beam- 
ing with  faith.  On  leaving  the  church  I  went  into  the 
vestry  to  ask  the  name  of  the  preacher.  I  was  told  it 
was  Father  Didon.  The  explanation  of  this  mystery  of 
the  Eucharist,  which  until  then  had  never  seemed  to 
me  worthy  of  serious  discussion,  has  remained  in  my 
mind.  As  science  has  taught  me  to  look  closer  at  Na- 
ture, I  had  gone  along  repeating  "Why  not?"  But 


PARIS  399 

out  of  the  thousands  of  human  creatures  who  approach 
the  mystical  table,  how  few  hold  communion!  It 
seems  to  me  that  one  must  be  capable  of  a  profound 
aspiration  towards  the  ideal,  towards  the  divine,  that 
one  must  have  a  special  state  of  soul.  I  thought  I  had 
now  arrived  at  this,  and  that  is  why  I  wanted  to  see 
the  priest.  He  came  and  we  talked,  but  not  without 
some  difficulty.  He  examined  me  with  a  scrutinising 
look.  Then  he  treated  me  a  little  as  he  might  have 
done  the  man  who  goes  to  get  a  certificate  of  confes- 
sion the  evening  before  his  marriage.  In  his  absolu- 
tion he  put  an  emphasis  which  did  not  escape  me.  My 
faith  in  God  and  in  immortality  reassured  him,  though. 
He  had  brought  me  what  he  calls  "  the  bread  of  life." 
What  a  beautiful  name  in  the  ears  of  a  dying  woman ! 
And  that  bread  gave  me  joy  in  the  deep  waves,  a  peace 
which  made  a  strange  silence  within  me.  Verily,  I 
believe  that  I  held  communion. 

For  the  last  five  years  I  have  kept,  jealously, 
in  a  compartment  of  my  trunk,  my  grave  dress.  I 
thought  I  was  destined  to  fall  "  from  the  branch  "  in 
the  midst  of  strangers.  I  did  not  want  to  leave  the 
choice  of  it  to  them.  Heaven  knows  in  what  horrors 
they  might  have  buried  me.  The  making  of  this  gar- 
ment gave  a  certain  scare,  it  appears,  in  the  dress- 
maker's workroom.  One  of  the  young  girls  even  wept 
warm  tears  over  it.  I  had  felt  obliged  at  the  time  to 
bring  back  the  gaiety  that  I  had  chased  away  by  the 
gift  of  a  twenty-franc  piece.  This  morning  I  had  a 
fancy  to  try  on  this  last  dress.  It  is  of  white  serge,  of 
an  ivory  shade,  entirely  lined  with  silk,  with  a  long 
train,  two  classical  pleats,  and  wide  sleeves.  It  has  a 
hood  trimmed  with  some  fine  old  guipure,  which  is 
to  serve  as  a  mask.  I  congratulated  myself  on  my 


400  ON  THE  BRANCH 

far-seeing  coquetry.  It  is  a  veritable  master-piece,  and 
makes  me  look  like  an  abbess.  I  thought  it  suited  me 
so  well  that  I  wanted  to  keep  it  on.  I  had  forgotten 
that  I  had  shown  it  to  Guy,  one  day  when  packing  my 
trunk.  He  recognised  it,  and  the  unexpected  shock 
made  him  lose  his  self-possession  for  a  minute.  He 
gazed  at  me;  tears  welled  up  to  his  eyes;  he  came  and 
threw  himself  down  on  his  knees  by  my  couch,  saying 
in  a  voice  of  anguish  — 

"  God-mother,  god-mother,  it  is  not  time  yet !  " 
For  a  few  minutes  I  was  pleased  at  the  sight  of  this 
passionate  grief  of  which  I  was  the  object.  In  the  son 
of  my  husband  and  Colette  it  had  a  particular  relish 
for  me.  Then  it  touched  my  maternal  fibres,  and  they 
vibrated  with  affection  and  pity. 

"  No,  no,  my  boy,  the  hour  has  not  yet  come,"  I  said, 
as  one  would  speak  to  a  child  in  order  to  console  it ; 
and  with  a  sudden  inspiration  I  added,  "  We  are  both 
in  a  nervous  state,  I  through  illness,  and  you  through 
anxiety.  We  need  the  Lussons  and  Josee,  they  will 
bring  us  fresh  forces  and  put  us  right.  Telegraph  to 
them  at  once  to  come  and  help  us."  Guy  was  not  duped, 
I  knew  that  by  his  emotion.  All  the  same,  I  think  I 
forestalled  his  own  secret  desire.  I  then  took  a  few  of 
the  roses  he  had  sent  me  that  very  morning  and  put 
them  into  the  folds  of  my  white  robe,  to  make  it  into  the 
dress  of  a  living  person.  He  gave  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion. So  small  a  thing  is  necessary  for  reviving  hope. 
Josee's  presence  will  soften  the  grief  of  my  departure  if 
there  is  to  be  a  departure.  I  want  her  to  share  his  grief. 
Tears  unite  more  than  laughter.  Once  again  I  felt 
that  heart,  in  the  depths  of  my  being,  with  which  moth- 
ers love  and  sacrifice  themselves.  It  seems  to  me  that 
this  made  me  greater. 


PARIS  401 

They  are  all  here,  Madame  and  Monsieur  de  Lusson, 
Josee,  Guy  and  Uncle  Georges.  What  a  warm  fire  of 
friendship  this  makes  for  me!  And  only  a  year  ago 
I  had  so  thoroughly  resolved  to  finish  alone,  to  hide 
myself  away  to  die.  In  spite  of  the  charm  of  feeling 
myself  surrounded  by  such  loving  care,  I  suffer  at  times 
from  the  attentions  they  all  lavish  on  me.  For  a  nature 
as  independent  as  mine  there  is  more  merit  in  receiving 
than  in  giving.  It  requires  still  more  generosity.  I 
had  guessed  rightly  that  Josee  had  clever  hands.  She 
knows  how  to  arrange  my  pillows  as  no  one  else  can. 
She  has  the  intuition  as  regards  what  relieves  me  and 
what  is  agreeable  to  me.  She  helps  me  by  a  hundred 
little  artifices  to  overcome  my  increasing  disgust  for 
food.  She  has  set  about  fighting  with  pneumonia  with 
such  ardour  as  to  make  me  almost  wish  for  her  to  win 
the  victory.  We  are  all  of  us  very  brave.  Monsieur  de 
Lusson  is  the  least  courageous.  Frequently,  in  the  very 
midst  of  our  conversation,  I  see  on  his  eye-glasses  the 
reflection  of  the  tears  which  have  risen  to  his  eyes.  He 
cannot  resign  himself  to  the  possible  loss  of  his  partner 
at  bridge  and  whist.  Joking  aside,  the  five  weeks  which 
I  have  spent  at  the  "  Commanderie,"  and  our  pleasant 
chats,  have  bound  us  more  closely  together  than  we 
had  imagined.  Our  friendship,  without  our  being  aware 
of  it,  had  gone  ahead  at  the  rate  of  eighty-five  an  hour. 
I  talked  to  him  about  radium,  but  he  declared  that, 
at  present,  he  could  not  be  grateful  to  science  for  any- 
thing else  but  my  cure.  If  my  work  in  the  world  is  ac- 
complished I  shall  be  called  away.  There  is  no  science 
that  can  hold  out  against  that. 

I  had  the  joy  of  seeing  the  sympathy  which  sprang  up 
at  first  sight  between  Uncles  Georges  and  his  future  niece. 
Those  two,  I  would  wager,  will  be  a  fine  pair  of  friends. 


402  ON  THE  BRANCH 

I  have  asked  for  the  wedding  to  be  fixed  for  the  6th  of 
April,  three  days  after  Easter.  Every  one  has  consented 
to  this.  My  dear  god-children!  I  feel  sure  that  they 

will  often  turn  their  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  R 

cemetery.  Although  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  forget- 
fulness  in  the  world,  I  believe  that  they  will  remember  me. 
There  will  be  leaves  and  flowers  on  my  grave.  The  bees 
will  come  there  to  plunder,  and  I  shall  be  helping  Life. 
That  thought  is  very  sweet  to  me.  Guy  and  Josee  would 
certainly  not  like  to  see  their  god-mother  transformed 
into  a  handful  of  ashes.  After  all,  then,  there  is  to  be 
some  one  to  whom  my  remains  are  not  to  be  indifferent. 
Sir  William  once  said  to  me,  "  You  do  not  know !  "  Ah, 
no,  I  did  not  kriow. 

My  children  are  in  great  grief.  They  dare  not  be 
happy,  and  yet  all  the  same  they  are  happy.  I  rejoice 
to  see  this,  and  it  consoles  me.  A  little  whil^  ago  they 
were  here  with  me.  I  looked  at  their  complexion, 
coloured  by  rich,  pure  blood,  at  their  thick  hair,  their 
limpid  eyes.  Oh,  those  youthful  eyes,  those  eyes  with 
the  dawn  in  them,  and  then  their  healthy  teeth,  their 
firm,  fresh  lips.  I  admired,  without  any  regret  or 
envy,  their  insignia  of  vitality.  Above  my  weak, 
almost  worn-out  body,  I  could  feel  the  waves  of  love, 
that  eternal  conqueror,  passing  and  repassing  from  one 
to  the  other  of  them.  For  an  instant  I  had  a  vision  of 
the  continuity  of  things,  and  Jean  Noel,  ignoring 
Madame  de  Myeres,  repeated  mentally,  "  How  beautiful 
Life  is,  how  very  beautiful !  " 

Last  night  was  a  very  bad  one ;  I  fancy  I  was  slightly 
delirious,  and  the  feverishness  revived  a  whole  crowd  of 
painful  impressions.  Why  should  it  have  revived  just 
those!  I  lived  over  again,  through  every  detail,  that 
terrible  moment  when,  in  all  the  anger  of  a  betrayed  wife, 


PARIS  403 

I  had  stood  there  facing  the  dead  man.  Oh,  those 
clenched  hands,  the  impotence  before  that  awful  void! 
Again  I  tore  from  my  finger  the  wedding-ring  which 
my  husband  had  placed  there.  Just  as  it  had  been 
in  reality,  my  flesh  held  it  back,  and  it  hurt  me  very 
much.  Colette's  black  eyes,  the  scene  on  the  stone  steps, 
all  that  took  form  again  in  the  most  cruel  way  in  my 
mind.  Then  I  dreamed  that  Guy,  the  father,  was  kneel- 
ing beside  Josee.  I  wanted  to  rush  forward  to  claim 
him  again,  but  my  feet  were  bound,  and  I  woke  up  bathed 
in  the  perspiration  of  a  nightmare.  Never,  I  should 
think,  had  the  cells  of  my  brain  opened  with  such 
rapidity,  such  fantastic  incoherence.  They  plunged  me 
back,  me,  a  dying  woman,  into  my  childhood,  into  my 
youth.  The  past  is  so  far  away  that  it  no  longer  has  any 
data,  but  these  images  remain  very  distinct.  I  saw  again 
the  tall  figure  of  Mr.  Gray,  that  poor  English  professor, 
who,  all  unwittingly,  had  enabled  me  to  study  the  Saxon 
soul  and  to  write  my  future  novels.  The  first  lines  of 
his  Robertson's  Grammar  came  back  to  my  memory  as 
though  I  had  learnt  it  yesterday :  "  We  are  told  that 
the  Sultan  Mahmoud,  etc."  Forty-four  years  had  not 
effaced  it!  What  marvellous  instruments  of  work  we 
are!  Towards  half -past  three  in  the  morning,  on  wak- 
ing from  a  painful  dream,  my  eyes  fell  on  Sister  Anne. 
She  was  seated  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  quite  upright  in 
her  arm-chair,  as  clearly  outlined  as  some  hieratic  figure, 
with  her  black  veil,  her  forehead-band  and  guimpe  of 
immaculate  white.  There  was  no  trace  of  fatigue  in 
her  attitude.  The  expression  of  her  face  was  sweet 
and  meditative,  and  she  was  reading  her  little  book, 
covered  with  black  cloth,  The  Imitation.  Is  that  the  ac- 
cumulator from  which  she  draws  the  psychical  force  that 
sustains  her  and  the  devotion  she  shows  to  me?  The 
dear  Sister,  her  hope  of  reward  will  not  be  in  vain,  I  am 


404  ON  THE  BRANCH 

certain.  None  of  our  hopes  will  be  in  vain.  Our  future 
otate  must  be  more  beautiful  than  we  have  pictured  it. 
For  my  part,  the  beatitudes  do  not  tempt  me.  All  I  ask 
is  to  make  Life  again  and  for  ever,  to  die  in  order 
to  be  born  again,  and  to  be  born  again  in  order  to 
die.  .  .  . 

Where  in  the  Beyond,  and  when,  shall  I  meet  my 
husband  again?  If  my  soul  were  to  have  lips,  what  a 
hearty  kiss  I  should  receive!  Our  meeting  in  this  world 
was  wonderful,  our  union  divine.  The  very  evening  of 
our  wedding  day  we  went  to  Chavigny.  The  house  was 
full  of  flowers,  light  and  gentle  warmth,  like  a  corner 
of  terrestrial  Paradise.  For  dinner  I  put  on  again  my 
bridal  dress,  a  princess  robe  of  white  satin,  with  a  spray 
of  orange  blossom  on  the  bodice.  I  then  went  to  the 
library  where  my  lord  and  master  was  awaiting  me.  As 
I  entered  the  room  he  came  towards  me,  his  arms  stretched 
out,  and,  looking  into  his  eyes  just  as  in  a  dream  of 
happiness,  I  moved  slowly  forward  and  fell  upon  his 
breast.  There  I  heard  two  hearts  beating,  the  one  on  the 
right  side  and  the  other  on  the  left;  two  hearts  making 
perfect  rhythm,  one  strong  and  one  weak.  I  had  the 
sensation,  then,  of  complete  being,  of  the  fulness  of  life. 
This  lasted  a  few  seconds,  and  it  was  so  strange  that  we 
were  both  struck  with  holy  awe.  Our  arms  fell  down  at 
our  sides,  and  we  gazed  at  each  other  in  astonishment. 
We  had  just  recognised  each  other,  no  doubt.  That  is 
the  minute  that  I  should  like  to  live  again.  That  is  the 
minute  for  which  I  am  hoping.  Oh,  the  meeting  again ! 
Humanity  has  pictured  it  in  so  absurd,  so  childish  a  way. 
Let  us  leave  to  God  the  care  of  preparing  it.  He  has 
the  secret  of  such  joys  and  rewards.  I  am  quite  content, 
for  my  part,  to  "  commit  my  soul  into  His  hands," 


PARIS  405 

"  Your  rooms  are  waiting  for  you."  That  is  what 
they  write  to  me  from  the  Hotel  Castiglione!  What 
irony !  The  room  will  go  on  waiting  for  me  for  a  long 
time,  I  fancy.  Did  I  not  have  the  presentiment  that  I 
should  never  go  back  to  them  when  I  left  there  in  July? 
Oh,  the  thud  of  that  omnibus  door  shutting  after  me. 
I  can  still  hear  it.  The  dear  little  room  in  which  Jean 
Noel  was  born !  If  I  could  have  had  the  choice  I  should 
have  liked  to  finish  between  the  four  walls  of  that  room. 
Guy  will  buy  the  clock  which  counted  my  hours  of  great 
solitude  and  of  work;  the  table  to  which  so  many  con- 
soling spirits  came.  I  have  expressed  a  wish  that  he 
should  put  them  in  the  Chavigny  library;  a  curious  in- 
stinct makes  me  want  to  go  back  there.  I  know  with 
what  tender  reverence  they  will  be  surrounded.  I  have 
arranged  a  future  in  this  way  for  my  old  companions,  a 
future  worthy  of  envy. 

Livid  circles  under  my  eyes,  my  nose  pinched, 
patches  of  yellow  here  and  there,  my  lips  discoloured  and 
dry  —  that  is  the  horrible  picture  my  hand-glass  reflects 
at  present.  And  there  is  a  great  deal  of  grief  felt  all 
around  me.  Uncle  Georges,  among  others,  is  deplor- 
ably weak.  Yesterday  evening,  in  order  to  keep  me  back, 
he  found  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  own  to  the  love 
that  he  has  always  felt  for  me,  the  secret  of  which  he  had 
kept  in  so  manly  a  way.  Just  as  though  I  had  not 
guessed  it.  Yes,  I  had  been  inwardly  proud  of  it!  It 
was  the  homage  of  a  large  heart.  Would  any  one  believe 
it  possible,  but  this  declaration,  this  last  one,  was  very 
sweet  and  agreeable  to  me. 

My  femininity  and  my  vanity  are  still  very  living. 
My  boy  breaks  my  heart.  There  is  a  mute  supplication 
in  his  eyes  which  moves  me  to  the  depths  of  my  soul. 
If  I  could  stay  here,  should  I  like  to  do  so?  No  —  ah 


406  ON  THE  BRANCH 

no !     Something  tells  me  that  I  am  leaving  in  time.     To 
leave  in  time,  that  is  the  way  to  be  regretted !     .     .     . 

It  is  nearly  finished  .  .  .  Jean  Noel's  last  novel. 
I  feel  suffocated.  .  .  .  Impossible  to  take  anything, 
and  at  times  I  get  out  of  my  depth.  The  heroine  does 
not  do  me  good  any  longer.  The  branch  is  bending 
.  .  .  it  is  bending  terribly  .  .  .  It  is  even  crack- 
ing under  me.  .  .  .  And  I  am  not  afraid.  .  .  -'  ... 
not  at  all  afraid.  .  .  .  Like  the  bird  of  whom  the 
poet  sings  .  .  .  "I  know  that  I  have  wings." 


Fallen  from  the  branch. 


THE    END 


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LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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